


What the Hell Is This, Baywatch?

by Jenetica



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (there is no other Lydia Martin sorry), Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, BAMF Lydia Martin, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Derek Hale & Melissa McCall Friendship, F/M, Fingerfucking, Lifeguard Stiles, MILFs, Motherhood, Oblivious Scott, Pack Bonding, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rare Pairings, Summer, srsly lots of pack love guys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-20 20:51:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9514868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenetica/pseuds/Jenetica
Summary: The summer Melissa expected: A happy reunion with Scott after his junior year of college, a slight uptick in work at the hospital, and a generally quiet couple of months.The summer Melissa didnotexpect: A strangely tolerable friendship with Lydia Martin, a hellish bout of supernatural antics, and Stiles Stilinski turning into a hot lifeguard who’s decided he wants to spend his summer giving her some kind of sex-fueled conniption.Guess which one she gets.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story involves a relationship with a significant age gap. It is consensual and all participants are of age, but... consider this your warning. If you're just going to leave kink-shaming comments, please turn away now.
> 
> For everyone ready for one hell of a party, welcome! This was supposed to be five thousand (maybe ten thousand) words of glorious smut, but then law school responsibilities hit and my brain went, "lol but maybe plot tho?" 
> 
> So I'm currently sitting on like 50,000 words of story. You know how it goes.
> 
> This story is beta'ed by the ever-amazing [iFlail](iflailfic.tumblr.com), who is my rock in this crazy world of writing. Love you, bro.

Melissa pulls her damp scrubs away from her sticky back with an uncomfortable grimace. A heat wave breached the city limits last night, and the weather forecasters claim it has no intention of leaving soon. The people of Beacon Hills will be swimming in their own sweat by Thursday. Lovely.

That's the thing about Beacon Hills: it's far enough north that most Californians think it's temperate, but it's just south enough to make the summers muggy to the extreme. And this is supposed to be the hottest summer of the decade, according to meteorologists, with temperatures in the nineties most days. This heat wave will send that estimate into the three digit range.

It's the summer after Scott's junior year in college, and he's well on his way to a degree in zoology. His grades have picked up since his high school days, partly from getting used to being a werewolf and its many issues, and partly from getting to focus on the subjects that he loves. He'll make an excellent veterinarian one day, and Melissa honestly couldn't be prouder.

Melissa would keep better track of the collegiate whereabouts (and whatabouts) of the rest of the pack, but unfortunately, she never kept up with most of them. They were Scott's friends and Melissa always felt like an intruder for caring. And, honestly, she had a tough time accepting that such young kids were constantly throwing themselves into dangerous situations. It hurt enough to watch Scott go through that hell, let alone a whole cluster of Scott’s peers. As much as she wanted to be involved, she didn’t despise the idea of regaining some normalcy in her life.

That’s why, when Derek Hale showed up on Melissa’s doorstep the day after Scott left for UC Davis, she didn’t know what to make of him. An enigma to the people of Beacon Hills, Derek read like one of the brooding love interests in Melissa’s collection of trashy romance novels. It took weeks for him to thaw, and Melissa often spent her evenings wondering why he chose to glare murderously at her television over the one in his own home. Still, he helped with the chores and kept to himself, so she never had the heart to turn him away.

As he slowly warmed to her, Melissa grew to find him a kindred spirit in some ways and a refreshing change of pace in others. Derek missed his pack the way Melissa missed her son, even though most of the betas chose to stay relatively close to home. He never said as much aloud, but Melissa could see the same restlessness in him that always struck her when she came home to an empty house.

She took him under her wing and found things to do that made their restlessness more bearable. Together, they furnished his apartment and got the last of the warehouse grime off the windows. She taught him how to bake lasagna and how best to get stains out of fabric, while he mowed her lawn and fixed her ridiculously temperamental dishwasher. It took weeks of patient silence to get him to stiltedly, brokenly confess that he learned how to be handy by following his dad around the house whenever the family toolkit came out.

Their friendship eventually relaxed into something unexpectedly easy. One night, Derek fell asleep on Melissa’s sofa after dinner, sprawled out and looking one snore away from falling to the floor, and it was simple habit to cover him with the quilt from the top shelf of the coat closet—Scott used to do the same thing. When she woke up the next morning, Derek was gone, and the quilt was folded at the end of the sofa.

These days, Derek sleeps over so often, Melissa just leaves the quilt ready for him.

Summer break started about a week ago. The pack is back together in full force, and Derek has his hands full of betas again. Tonight is the pack reunion get-together, a pizzas-and-beer shindig at Derek’s massive apartment. The quiet joy in Derek’s eyes at having a full home just about breaks Melissa’s heart.

She’s sure that her eyes look the same, now that her home is filled with the constant cacophony of Scott’n’Stiles once again. While Scott seems the same as ever, Stiles has lost something of his “walking, talking can of Red Bull” edge. He seems more centered. The medical professional in Melissa thinks that he may have finally settled into a dosage of medication that actually works for him, or that he might have finally stopped abusing his pills. Whatever he did, it’s a good look for him.

Melissa generally stays with Derek, the only other adult at the party. The Sheriff “couldn’t make it,” although Melissa expects that has less to do with anything at the police station, and more to do with the beer bottles dangling expertly between his son’s fingers. Melissa expects he sees his own alcohol-fueled regrets at the bottom of Stiles’ drinks.

Which means Melissa should expect a phone call tomorrow morning, because the Sheriff will want a full report on Stiles’ behavior. Melissa understands; she’d want the same for Scott.

The betas eventually manage to convince Derek to go on a run through the woods with them, after several perfunctory refusals that no one believes. Derek shoots her a look. _It’s okay if I go?_

Melissa waves him on. _Go. I’ll clean up here. Spend time with your family_.

She expects to clean up the mess alone but, surprisingly, Stiles stays behind. “Still tipsy,” he says, but Melissa’s been watching him, and she knows he’s only had two beers in the last two hours. Whatever, she’ll play along if he wants.

“Okay,” she says anyway, stacking the empty pizza boxes together to carry to the recycling bin. “Need a ride home?”

“Nah, I’ll be okay in a little bit,” Stiles says, carefully sweeping the shreds of label he peeled off his bottles into a trash can. “So, it’s good to have the gang all together again, isn’t it?”

“More than you know,” Melissa replies, smiling. “Derek and I… we miss this. I never thought I could miss anything about the craziness of your high school years, but… somehow, chaos is better than silence.”

Stiles shoots her an unreadable look. “You and Derek seem pretty close now. Closer than before.”

Melissa thinks that over while she pours a half-empty wine cooler down the sink. “I suppose we are,” she says finally. “You kids are so grown up now, and I think we both feel that. It’s easy to countdown until the next school break, but, well, Derek and I both realize that this is our last summer with everyone before—”

 _Before you really leave us_. Melissa can’t bear to say the words out loud, sure that they’ll hurt Stiles more than they’re hurting her.

But he seems to hear them, anyway. “I’m happy you have each other, then,” he replies, fiddling with the tab of a soda can. He sounds sadder now, and Melissa hates herself for making him feel guilty for growing up.

“I’ll admit, it’s fun as hell to be his friend,” she says brightly, trying to change the subject.

“Yeah?” The corner of Stiles’ mouth twitches up. “Why’s that?”

“God, the _rumors_ ,” Melissa says, grinning at Stiles. She ties up the last of the garbage bags and deposits it next to the front door. “ _Everyone_ thinks we’re dating. Half the town says I’m some lusty cougar taking advantage of him, and the other half says he’s a lusty scoundrel taking advantage of me. It’s hilarious.”

She starts washing plates and completely misses the way Stiles’ eyes widen at her, as if he were making a very large discovery.

“I think the best part of it is the way Derek reacts to it all,” she continues obliviously. “I can handle the gossip just fine—hell, I’m flattered people would even think someone like him would date an old has-been like me—but poor Derek’s clearly not used to sexual scandal. His eyes get all big and his mouth makes this tiny _O_ —” Melissa bursts out laughing “—God, gets me every time.”

Stiles joins her at the sink and pulls out a towel to dry the dishes. “And you _are_ used to sexual scandal?”

Melissa’s soapy fingers slip on a fork. “Jesus, of all the things to ask,” she says, laughing. “Well, not really, I suppose. But honestly, I think a wet leaf would be more used to it than Derek Hale.”

Stiles gives her a sharp grin. “Well, it is _wet_ , after all.”

A water cup clatters in the sink basin and Melissa curses herself for being so surprised by the obvious joke she’d set up for him. “ _Young man_.”

Stiles grins again and dries dishes silently for a few moments. Melissa moves to start putting the dried dishes away.

“You’re not an old has-been, by the way,” he says eventually, reaching over her to put a plate in the open cabinet by her head. Melissa takes a tiny step back to avoid an arm to the face.

“Please,” Melissa scoffs lightly. “I appreciate the effort, but I’m fully aware of my lot in life. I’m not that bad for my age, but I won’t be scoring any Derek Hales anytime soon.”

“Well, then,” Stiles says, sounding determined, “the Derek Hales don’t deserve you.”

Melissa’s heart _melts_. Stiles always was a sweet kid, as quick to jump to Melissa’s defense as he was to Scott’s. She is happy to see that protective streak still going strong. She walks over to him and hugs him warmly, proud of John for for raising such a good boy.

“I could just eat you up,” she sighs, resting her head on his chest. It’s less bony than it used to be. _Good for him_ , she thinks. She remembers his junior year of high school, when he was possessed by that horrid demon monster and barely ate. He was all fragile angles and worrisome recesses back then, more shadow than anything else. _That was four years ago_ , she realizes, suddenly feeling older than her years.

She pulls away from the hug and pats his shoulder. “I’m happy Scott has you.”

She always has been, of course—Stiles first asked her for an extra inhaler when he was seven, and he’s looked after Scott ever since—but now that Scott’s growing up, up, and away, Melissa appreciates knowing that he’ll have someone like Stiles in his corner for the rest of his life.

“I’m happy to be here,” Stiles replies, sounding like he knows every thought that just went through her head. “With Scott and the pack. With you. It’s good to be home.”

Melissa takes advantage of the subject change, feeling about three heartwarming comments away from getting emotional. “Speaking of, how’s Irvine? Still doubling in Folklore and Criminology?”

She sits on the sofa, resting her back against the armrest. Save for the bags and pizza boxes near the front door, the apartment is just as clean as she found it. Stiles takes the other end of the couch, mirroring her position.

“It’s good!” he says, in that vaguely optimistic way every college student uses to describe their school life. Melissa silently prompts him to continue with a raised eyebrow, and Stiles chuckles. “Learning tricks from Sourwolf, I see. School is… it's school. I love the learning, love the environment, but I miss my pack. When I left, you know, I think I had big aspirations for, like, being brilliant and going places. But now that I’m in the thick of things, I think I’ll want to move back when I’m done. Maybe take over for my dad, or become some kind of supernatural-slash-mundane diplomat. I dunno.”

“You don’t have to know,” Melissa says softly. “I went to school to be an environmental lobbyist, originally.” She grins at Stiles’ surprised look. “I know, best laid plans… I got pregnant with Scott, and I realized that I cared more about saving people than saving the world. We all change in college. It’s okay to be a little lost.”

Stiles gives her another unreadable look, but Melissa sees something in it that does something funny to her chest. Like she’s sharing the silence with another adult, not a kid her son’s age. _He really has changed_ , she thinks.

“Well,” she says, slapping her thighs lightly. “It’s getting late, and I should really get home. Are you good to drive?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, shaking his head as if to clear it. “Sure, of course. I’ll go ahead and throw all the stuff away, too. Go ahead and go home.”

“You sure?” Melissa checks. At Stiles’ affirmative, Melissa gathers her things and prepares to leave. “Thanks for keeping me company.”

She walks over to him and leans up to kiss him on the cheek and ruffle his hair. He goes still with surprise—undoubtedly unused to affection in college, the poor kid—and waits until she's almost out the door before saying goodbye.

It’s another two weeks before the pack has another big meeting. Derek invites Melissa to it carelessly, like of course she should attend, and it warms Melissa all the way to her toes. She doesn’t want to intrude, of course, but she likes his pack. She likes the idea of being included in it.

Much to Melissa’s surprise, Derek hasn’t pulled them together for a supernatural reason. “You all need to get jobs,” he says firmly, looking around at the circle of betas. “I won’t have you skulking around my apartment all the time.”

Isaac winces, looking guilty, and Erica pouts. “Why?” she whines. “We work all school year, and school is _hard_. Is it a money issue?”

They know it isn’t. Derek got a massive nest egg from the life insurance policies of his family members—God, what a terrible fact to acknowledge—and he’ll never even touch most of it.

“In… most packs,” Derek says slowly, as if grinding the words out of himself, “members… participate.”

Melissa reaches for his hand immediately. Derek’s only spoken of his family a handful of times, usually when Melissa has managed to find a bottle of the right kind of wolfsbane for him to nurse, and she has learned how much he responds to physical signs of support. She doesn’t think about how it might read to the betas, but she needn’t have worried. As one, they scoot closer to touch Derek in some way, as if sensing his pain.

Derek takes a deep breath. “My… mother,” he murmurs, faltering. He clears his voice and tries again. “My mother always made us get summer jobs. Every member of the pack is expected to participate in supporting the home. It’s… it’s not really a, a ‘money issue.’”

He seems to lose track of his words, but it’s easy for Melissa to supply the rest. “I think Derek would like to see all of you take on some responsibility this summer. You will probably find jobs or move on to grad school next year, and both options will place a lot of demands on your time. It’s good for you to build self-reliance skills while you still have some support to fall back on.”

Derek gives her a small, grateful smile, which she returns.

“I’m training to be a lifeguard,” Stiles says quietly from the edge of the group. “I’d be happy to chip in.”

Shocked, Melissa gives him a startled look. Stiles, a lifeguard? Stiles, clumsy kid extraordinaire, charged with saving people’s lives? Really?

Somehow, even more stunningly, Derek chuckles. “Well, I know you can tread water, if nothing else.”

Stiles beams at him, radiating delight. “That’s actually what inspired it. That, and Dad won’t let me around police files anymore since last year.”

Last year, when Stiles inadvertently stumbled across an inconsistency in a police report, tugged on the loose string until it unraveled, and uncovered a well-hidden sting operation conducted one town over. The higher-ups in charge of the operation were less than impressed, and the Sheriff almost lost his job. After that, Stiles wasn’t allowed to handle anything more than the station coffeepot.

“That’s awesome, dude!” Scott says, clapping Stiles on the back. “I knew you were taking those classes for a reason.”

Stiles bites his lip and smiles. "Yeah. I just figure, Roscoe’s getting on in years, and a summer job could really help me pay for his new transmission. And I can save up to help pay off some loans. And, you know, contribute to the pack.”

"That's very wise of you," Melissa says, impressed. But she can’t help but point out the flaw in his plan. "You do realize that lifeguards mostly sit on their chairs for hours on end, though, right? Do you think you can handle that?"

Stiles’ disappointment would be harder to read if Melissa hadn’t gotten disturbingly used to Derek’s method of emoting through his eyebrows over the last two years. She feels badly for hurting Stiles’ feelings but, well, she watched the kid grow up. She can’t not associate him with constant energy.

“I know that,” he says, a little defensively. “And it might drive me a little wild, but I’ll get breaks, and… it’s worth it. And I’ve gotten better, Mrs. McCall.”

“Melissa,” she corrects him. “Call me Melissa.” She’s not sure why, exactly, she dislikes hearing Stiles use her last name. Maybe it’s her realization that these adults are twenty years her junior, and she’ll feel like a decrepit octogenarian if they make her feel any older.

Stiles relaxes minutely. “Cool. Melissa.”

Melissa gives him a small smile that he returns, and just like that, the tension in the room is gone again.

“I’m working with Deaton,” Scott says. “It’s technically an internship, but I’m getting paid a little. I can help.”

“I’ll find work,” Erica says, shrugging. “Hell, I’ve always wanted to learn to bartend. Perfect timing. I hear they make bank.”

“I’ll help out around my dad’s body shop,” Boyd offers. “He’s always asking for my help.”

“I won’t have time for work. I’m in a physics research lab at Davis,” Lydia says primly.

“Not Stanford?” Stiles asks teasingly.

Lydia turns a delicate, enviably beautiful pink. “Stanford was… far.”

Melissa blinks. From what she understands of Lydia, this is a massive confession, because she undoubtedly sacrificed a cutting edge lab at Stanford to work nearer the pack. It goes against everything Melissa ever thought she knew about Lydia to see her choosing interpersonal relationships over personal success.

Melissa takes a deep breath. She’s being unfair. She doesn’t know enough about Lydia to make assumptions about anything. To her defense, though, she’s learned about Lydia predominantly through Stiles and his unending devotion to _Lydia Martin, that sweet, effervescent flower_ throughout high school. And, subsequently, his unending rejections from her throughout high school. Nevertheless, she should take her cues from Stiles and give the girl a chance.

“That’s really cool of you, Lyds,” Stiles says cheerfully, obviously compensating for the way everyone seems slightly taken aback by her decision. “It’ll be good to have you around.”

And that’s what Melissa needed to see: Stiles’ reaction was nothing more than platonic. If he doesn’t blame Lydia for his perennial, pubescent heartache, Melissa has no business doing so, either.

The room goes quiet as everyone’s attention very carefully avoids Isaac, the only person who has yet to speak. No one wants to place demands on him, even though he’s been out of his father’s home for years. Melissa adores him, if she’s being honest. He’s hard around the edges and just this side of dangerously fragile. He reminds her of herself, sometimes.

“I’m going to volunteer to work with underprivileged kids, if that’s okay,” he says, flushing a ruddy red. “Foster kids, kids taken out of, um, bad homes. Kids I think I can help.” He shrugs. “Do what you know, you know?”

Erica breaks the sad silence by leaning over and giving him a noogie. “Atta boy. We’re proud of you.”

And, like that, the tension is gone. Isaac beams at Erica, and she blows a raspberry back at him.

“Good,” Derek says decisively. “I’m glad to see everyone making plans. I’ll still expect to see the betas three times a week for training, on top of the weekend meeting for everyone.”

Everyone groans collectively, and Melissa tries (and fails) to hide her grin. A mama bear to the last, that man is.

The pack chatter starts a moment later, as everyone starts making plans for the week. Derek sits back, looking content. And, to Melissa’s surprise, so does Stiles. Melissa expected him to be at the center of every conversation, keeping track of a dozen things at once, but… not this time, apparently.

After a few minutes of listening to everyone, she moves to sit next to him. “Interesting choice, lifeguard,” she says. “I bet your dad is very proud."

Stiles looks surprised to see her next to him, but gives her a sunny smile. "Oh, yeah," he says, picking at his fingertips. "I think he thinks being a lifeguard is some kind of law enforcement, because he's been quizzing me on pool rules for days. I made him promise to stop by once a week to swim for an hour. It's great exercise, you know."

Melissa glances down at his torso before she can stop herself. So that’s how he put meat on his bones. It looks… quite good on him. Distractingly good.

“I do know,” she says, curling her arms around herself. She had no business noticing anything distracting about Stiles. “I used to love to swim, back in college. The university gym had an Olympic-sized pool.”

“You swim?” Stiles asks, eyes brightening. “You should come by the pool sometime. I’ll guard your life and everything.”

“We should all go!" Scott declares, obviously eavesdropping. "Dude, with this heat wave, everyone will be at the pool. It'll be awesome!"

"Yeah?" Stiles asks, grinning. "Thanks, buddy!"

“I’m down,” Erica says, grinning lazily. “I got a great new bikini for the summer. Hikes these puppies—” she cups her breasts “—up like you wouldn’t believe. I’ve been itching for the chance to wear it.”

“Classy as always, Erica,” Isaac says, rolling his eyes. Boyd snorts, and Scott bursts out laughing. Erica laughs too, like she’d been angling to make it a joke all along.

“Hey, if you’ve got it, flaunt it,” she says, shrugging. She gives them a toothy grin. “The bikini, I mean.”

“Please,” Lydia says prissily. “ _My_ bathing suit is going to smoke _all_ you bitches.”

Melissa raises an eyebrow in surprise, sure that Lydia’s begging for a fight with a comment like that. But no, Erica just smirks, flips her hair over her shoulder, and says, “Bring it, wallflower. Whoever gets more numbers by the end of the day wins.”

Lydia bares her teeth in a grin that’s all wolf. “Oh, it is _on_.”

The meeting ends shortly after everyone has made plans to go to the pool the first Saturday Stiles is on duty. Melissa hears very little from anyone in the pack over the next few days. Even Scott is barely home, after agreeing to take several long shifts with Deaton to make up for lost time. Melissa expects to hate the silence, but it’s actually very refreshing. She’s grown used to being alone, and the empty space gives her some room to breathe. Plus, she gets constant reminders of Scott’s presence in the form of the half empty coffee mug on the counter, or the dirty underwear left on the bathroom floor.

She never expected to be happy to see either of those things, but… separation does funny things to you, she supposes.

She has work, too; accidents always skyrocket at the beginning of summer. She's seen four broken arms, one fractured collarbone, and six concussions since school let out. Melissa feels torn between amusement and sympathy; kids will never learn.

But the work keeps her busy. One night, after a horribly long shift, she crawls onto her sofa with bruised feet and a raging headache. Derek shows up not ten minutes later. "They're watching _Mean Girls_ ," he says by way of explanation. "I escaped."

Melissa smiles at him despite herself. "I'll give you twenty bucks for a foot rub. You pick the movie."

Derek smiles back at her, which is still not something she's entirely used to, and picks out _The Princess Bride_. When Melissa gives him a look, he shrugs, unabashed. "I never said I didn't like chick flicks. I just prefer the classics."

Melissa isn't about to argue with that. Derek settles on the opposite end of the couch and lays her feet across his lap. She soon discovers that, between them, they can quote the entire movie. Derek rubs the tension out of her feet and leaches the pain out of her head with his werewolf mojo, and Melissa internally decides that he'll make an amazing husband for someone someday.

Derek is just reciting, "There's a shortage of perfect breasts in the world. It would be a pity to damage yours," when Stiles and Scott come through the door.

"This is where you disappeared to!" Scott says to Derek. Derek tenses, clearly surprised by the intrusion. He must have gotten completely caught up in the movie, if he didn’t hear them approaching the house.

"Actually, I invited him over," she says, carefully thinking of the time she actually invited Derek over earlier in the year—she’s gotten good at speaking in truths to cover up lies."I had a rough day at work and I needed some company. I knew you kids were having fun, so I rang Derek."

"And… you’re watching a romcom while he rubs your feet," Stiles says suspiciously. “Because you’re friends.”

“I could smell that she was in pain,” Derek says, leveling Stiles with a steely look. Melissa ducks her head and bites back a smirk. Men can’t help but posture sometimes, can they? “Would you rather I ignore my friend’s discomfort throughout an otherwise peaceful experience?”

Stiles’ ears turn red and he opens his mouth to reply, but Scott beats him to it. “Of course not, I think your friendship is great!” he smiles winningly at Melissa, then turns to Derek. “And hey, dude, on the subject? Thanks for looking after my mom. Seriously. I know you and I have had some differences over the years, but it’s good to know someone’s watching her back while we’re all off at school. And her feet. I remember rubbing them all the time as a kid.”

“Hey!” Melissa says, pretending to be scandalized. “What’s this now? _I’m_ fine. It’s this lump of laziness you should worry about.” She pokes at Derek’s leg with her toe. “If it weren’t for me, Alpha Bad Boy here would be eating nothing but cereal and meatball subs from Vito’s. I don’t know how he survived for so long without someone watching his diet.”

Derek glowers at her without heat, and she gives him the same winning smile Scott just gave her. Some genetic quirks are too wonderful to pass up.

“And,” she continues, turning to Stiles, “I drop a casserole off at your dad’s once a week. Chocked full of vegetables.”

The color in Stiles’ ears darkens, and he looks… odd. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

He’s acting strange, Melissa realizes. Not that he hasn’t been throwing her Stiles-ometer off this whole summer, but… something’s different, here. She’s tempted to ask Derek if he’s smelled anything unusual. It’s an invasion of Stiles’ privacy, maybe, but Melissa can’t help but have motherly instincts, and she knows that whatever’s going on with Stiles, the other two people in the room have a better grasp of it than she does.

Well, maybe not Scott. Despite the closeness of their friendship, there’s only about a 50/50 shot that Scott ever knows what’s going on with Stiles. Her poor, oblivious, beautiful son. That particular genetic quirk comes from his father’s side of the family.

“We’ll let you get back to your movie,” Scott says, interrupting her line of thought. “We’re gonna play Halo for a bit, okay?”

"You're both adults," Melissa reminds him. "You do what you want."

"Yes, we are," Stiles says, continuing to give her that odd look. He perks up a moment later. "Let's go, Scott." They head up the stairs, leaving Melissa and Derek in the living room. Derek restarts the movie—Melissa hadn’t even realized he’d paused it—and lets her quote the next line. She digs her phone out of her pocket as she speaks.

 **4:08pm:** Hey, any idea what’s up with Stiles?

Derek’s phone buzzes in his pocket, and he shoots her a curious look while he digs it out. When he sees the message, he raises an eyebrow.

 **4:08pm:** You don’t know??

Melissa rolls her eyes at him.

 **4:09pm:** OBVIOUSLY I don’t know, you jackass. Is he okay? Is it serious? Is he mad at you? Help a poor, mundane human out, here.

Derek chuckles as he quotes the next line, that asshole.

 **4:09pm:** He’s fine. It’s… he’s fine. And he’s less mad at me than he used to be.

Melissa should be relieved that it’s nothing serious, but somehow, that piques her curiosity even more. Because now she knows for certain that Derek could give her a more concrete answer if he wanted to, and yet, he’s refusing to do so. She’s missing something about Stiles, a boy she’s cared for for over a decade, and his potentially discontented emotional state.

It’s a puzzle. Melissa loves puzzles, and she knows she won’t be able to get this one out of her head until she solves it. Dammit.

She quotes the rest of the movie with Derek anyway, refusing to give into her need to pick the clues apart until they unravel. She’ll get consumed with it otherwise.

Except she doesn’t get consumed with it. Derek leaves after the movie, and Melissa loses herself in an audiobook while she makes dinner. By the time Stiles and Scott thunder down the stairs to eat, she’s forgotten all about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the exposition dump, guys, but hey, even the Bible has the Book of Genesis. 
> 
> I always appreciate making friends in the comments section.
> 
> (HINT HINT NUDGE NUDGE COME LOVE ME)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Thank you for the warm response to the first chapter!

Saturday approaches quickly and before she knows it, Melissa is standing in the middle of her room, staring at her bathing suits with mounting frustration. It takes her an embarrassingly long time to choose between her trusty one-piece and the bikini she bought on a whim last spring. When Scott starts complaining that they're going to be late, she throws on the bikini—because fuck it—and runs out the door.

She, of course, completely forgets that she'll be surrounded by gorgeous people half her age. Once she reaches the pool, she realizes her mistake. Lydia's creamy skin is absolutely flawless, and her sea foam bathing suit practically gives Melissa a complex with how well it suits her body. Allison, who is finally home after a painfully late finals season, looks like a professional ballerina in her black monokini.

Melissa doesn't even want to talk about Erica. She's just incredibly envious of the girl's self-confidence. Along with her everything else. Jesus, kids ripen young these days.

The men are no better: They all have the bodies of underwear models. Melissa hates them all, especially because they’ve forced her to realize that her son is one of those underwear models. She’s seen more than a handful of people (guys and girls alike) eye him up so far, and the thought of it makes her want to bleach her eyeballs and pretend he’s still the toddler who shoved toy trucks down his pants whenever he got angry.

They find a spot near Stiles’ chair and spread their towels out on the grass. Lydia commandeers a lounge chair, refusing to lay on the ground, and has Isaac rub ludicrously expensive sunscreen onto her back. Scott, in his rush to get his hands on Allison, starts smearing lotion on her before she’s even fully undressed.

Naturally tan, Melissa rubs oil into her skin instead of sunscreen. She’ll apply something more protective later, but right now, she’s itching to soak up some rays.

The boys immediately take to the water, while the girls choose to enjoy the sun a little, first. Melissa settles down with her book, content to keep to herself, until she overhears Lydia say, "So okay, is it just me, or did Stiles magically get hot?"

Melissa tries to ignore the question, because this conversation is very much not for her ears, but she can’t help but listen in. Gossip is gossip for a reason.

"It's not just you," Allison replies, snorting. "Scott had a crisis about it when Stiles first got home. He spent ten minutes poking himself because Stiles has better abs than him now. He actually Skyped me and had me examine his stomach."

Stiles has abs? Melissa eyes Stiles over the edge of her book. Oh. Apparently he does. Good ones, too. Really great ones, if she’s being totally honest.

Well, then. Good for him.

"Please, you're all losers," Erica snorts. "I always knew he was hot."

"Touché," Lydia says, flicking the page in her magazine. "Still, he's far from the blushing virgin with a ten-year plan for getting into my pants."

"Seriously," Allison agrees. "Scott told me that Stiles is like some sort of Casanova at Irvine. And they're always hook-ups, nothing serious."

"You get made fun of for being undesirable long enough, you swing hard," Erica says, combing her fingers through her hair in a way that pushes her breasts up. (Melissa isn’t sure how that’s even possible.) "Believe me. I say good for him. Experience only helps with men, let me tell you what."

All of the women cackle, including Melissa. Suddenly, three pairs of eyes zoom in on her. They'd all forgotten she was there, apparently.

"Uh, sorry, Mrs. McCall," Allison says sheepishly.

"It’s okay, you guys are right," Melissa says, shrugging and pretending that the apology doesn’t make her feel ancient. "Experience does help. Wait until you're thirty, you'll see."

The girls laugh again, this time even louder. Stiles glances over at them and does a double-take. Melissa smirks to herself; Casanova or not, there was no way Stiles could ignore three stunning girls overcome with laughter.

Damn, _she_ used to be one of those girls, joking with her friends and coyly ignoring the looks boys would send her way. Her friend group wasn’t as gorgeous as these three, but she did okay for herself. They were good friends, and she misses those days terribly. Time flies when you’re raising kids.

The conversation turns to some of the less-than-stellar experiences Lydia and Erica have had with men. Allison offers a very vague, “Scott makes me happy,” and shoots Melissa a small smile that Melissa returns.

Eventually the sun gets hot enough that the women decide slip into the pool to cool off. Erica and Allison instantly get pulled into a water fight with the guys, while Lydia and Melissa swim lazily by the rope separating the deep end from the rest of the pool.

Melissa was originally wary of spending one-on-one time with the girl who broke Stiles’ heart in high school, but Lydia proves to be an excellent conversationalist, with a wide array of interests and an almost encyclopedic knowledge of each of them. Instead of begrudging Lydia her talents, Melissa instead sees why Stiles loved her for so long. A thirsty consumer of knowledge himself, he must have loved Lydia’s dedication to thorough detail.

They get engrossed in a discussion about the inner workings of healthcare reform when a voice pipes up from behind them. "Hey, guys.”

Well, speak of the devil.

Lydia and Melissa instantly turn toward where Stiles is standing in the water. He's shiny and pink from spending hours in the sun, but Melissa knows from years of experience with Stiles that it'll turn brown by nightfall.

"Hey, Stiles," Lydia says, smiling at him. "What are you doing off-duty?"

Melissa can hear the flirtatious note in her voice, and for some reason, it annoys her. After a decade of ignoring Stiles, Lydia can’t suddenly realize he's hot and make a move.

Or rather, Lydia could _exactly_ do those things, and Melissa hates that. If Melissa's learned anything from talking to Lydia, it's that Lydia would be perfect for Stiles, and that Stiles would be an idiot to turn her down, even now. And it’s hateful, how things work out that way sometimes.

Even though Lydia Martin is objectively perfect, Stiles can do better.

Stiles shoots Melissa a glance before returning Lydia's smile. "I get a fifteen minute break every few hours. Thought I'd come say hi."

"You're not going to join the others?" Melissa asks before she can stop herself. "I thought you'd be itching to expend some energy by now."

Stiles's ears inexplicably turn pink. "Uh, no. Werewolf watersports are not my idea of fun. I'm amazed they haven't gotten blood in the pool yet, the way they usually act."

"It's your first day on the job," Lydia says. "We're all on our best behavior." Her tone makes it clear that her behavior wouldn’t mind some sullying. If Melissa were the type, she'd be blushing at the innuendo.

"Ah, you guys are the best," Stiles says, either ignoring or missing Lydia’s advances. Melissa is secretly delighted to see how much that throws her off-guard. "I still can't believe you all came to see me. It's just a lifeguard position."

"What makes you think we came to see you?" Melissa replies, mock-serious. "There’s a heat wave in town, you know. Maybe we just wanted to cool off for a while."

She worries for a split second that Stiles will take that seriously, because _of course_ they all came for him, but he barks out a loud laugh. "Sorry, my ego must have run away from me," he says, eyes sparkling. "I'll keep it in check in the future."

"See that you do," Melissa says, flipping her hair over her shoulder to feign dismissal. Stiles beams at her, and Lydia makes an _oh!_ noise at her side. Melissa’s about to glance over to see what she’s discovered, when—

"Stiles!" Isaac enthuses, jumping on Stiles’ back. "You're here!"

"Been here all day, bud," Stiles replies with a snort. He holds Isaac up effortlessly, even though a majority of his body is out of water. Melissa eyes the curves of his biceps and the tense pull of muscles across his chest.

It’s very impressive, is what it is. Impressive.

"Are you on break?" Derek asks, moving to stand next to Melissa. She grins up at him and leans against his shoulder. She'd honestly forgotten that he tagged along because he's spent all day playing with his betas. She's proud of him for that. They need the bonding time.

Stiles' smile falters. "Uh, yeah," he says, scratching the back of his neck. "But I have to get back soon. We only get fifteen minutes."

"Pizza party tonight, to celebrate?" Erica suggests. "Stiles can pay, now that he's Mr. Moneybags."

Stiles laughs. "I don't even get a paycheck until next Friday! Shut up, Erica."

"So, pizza party next Friday?" Boyd asks without missing a beat. Everyone laughs, even Derek.

"Alright, ha ha, very funny. I have to get back to my shift," Stiles says. He dunks underwater briefly and scrubs his hands through his hair. "You crazy kids get back to having fun. I'll see you later."

He gracefully swims to the edge of the pool and pulls himself out. His trunks are glued to his skin and riding low on his hips, and Melissa just _knows_ Lydia’s eyes are glued there. Probably Erica’s, too.

And, whoa, hers. When did that happen? Melissa shakes her head and decides to get out of the pool before the girls say something else that makes Melissa fear for her sanity.

Melissa tries to return to her book, but a flash of red hair catches her attention. Lydia’s moved close to Erica—so close, they’re probably giving half the boys at this pool an early heart attack—and is whispering something in her ear. Erica smirks and nods, and Lydia gets a surprised, pleased look on her face. She whispers something else and _holy shit, Erica just glanced over to Melissa_. Erica shrugs.

Melissa bites her lip. Are they talking about her? Is there a _reason_ to talk about her? Oh god, does she look bad in the bikini? Fuck, she should have worn the one-piece, she _knew_ it.

“You smell like death.” Derek plops down on the ground beside her. “What’s wrong.”

“I look _and_ smell like death. Great,” Melissa mutters.

“What?” Derek gives her a puzzled look. “You don’t look like death. You actually… look pretty great. I expected a mom suit.”

And just like that, Melissa realizes she’s channeling her inner teenaged girl in the most pathetic way. How humiliating. “Erica and Lydia were just talking in the pool, and Erica glanced at me before answering. Considering their little bet, I figured it had to do with my swimsuit. It, uh, sounds stupid now.”

Derek snorts. “They’re not talking about your swimsuit. Well, not directly.”

“You know what they’re talking about?” Melissa asks. She knows Lydia got close enough to confuse supernatural listeners-in. “How?”

Derek looks at her expectantly. It takes Melissa a moment to realize: This is another part of the puzzle.

The puzzle where Stiles has been acting strangely, but not in an upset way. A way that involves her somehow, and her swimsuit indirectly—

Oh.

Oh, Melissa is _blind_.

“No shit,” she whispers disbelievingly. “No, that’s ridiculous.”

“Knew you’d get there eventually,” Derek says approvingly.

“Really?” Melissa glances down at herself, then to Derek. “I mean, look at the selection.” She waves at the pack full of fucking _underwear models_. “ _Really?”_

Derek raises an eyebrow, as if to say, _You’re not so bad_.

Melissa gapes at him. “Wait, have _you_ ever—”

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Derek interrupts, looking pained. “I really like our friendship the way it is without that question in it.”

And that is totally fair, Melissa realizes. It’s a “damned if you do, damned if you don’t” kind of question, after all.

So this is why Stiles has been acting oddly all summer. It's not a broken heart, as Melissa feared it might be. Stiles is attracted to her.

Wow. Stiles Stilinski is attracted to her. _Jesus_.

“I have a lot of thinking to do.”

“That you do,” Derek agrees, sounding like he’s enjoying himself immensely. “You have fun with that.”

He stands and stretches, and Melissa wants to smack him for obviously showing off his insane physique. It does nothing for her, of course, but a good third of the women at the pool are surreptitiously watching him, and a small margin of those aren’t being very surreptitious at all.

Oh, maybe _that’s_ why Stiles got fussy the day Derek and Melissa watched _The Princess Bride_. He was _envious_. Of _Derek_. If anything, Melissa expected it to be the other way around; she’d always wondered if Stiles were purely straight, and when Derek entered the scene, her curiosity morphed into worried expectation. Stiles would moon over Derek, Derek would reject Stiles, Stiles would internalize all of it. Lydia, Round Two. But no, instead he’s interested in _her_.

Melissa wants to toy with that, unused to feeling wanted like this, but she squashes the impulse. The very last thing she wants to do is tempt fate by hurting Stiles’ feelings or making his crush even more obvious. She’s not going to ostracize herself from the pack, not when she barely gets to see these kids as is.

Derek leaps back into the water, purposefully splashing the betas and earning a reprimanding whistle from Stiles. Melissa eyes Stiles, sitting up on his lifeguard post. The kid is attracted to her. She used to wipe his scrapes clean when he fell outside. She taught him about skincare that one pesky year when his face realized it was going through puberty. Jesus, she even helped John give him the sex talk.

She’s dealt with a lot of awkward times, mothering two teenaged boys. But how the hell is she supposed to deal with this?

“So. You and Stiles?”

Melissa blinks and realizes she has company. Lydia and Erica have come ashore, flanking her on either side.

Melissa stares at the point where Lydia’s bottom touches the towel. “I thought you didn’t want to sit on the ground,” she says stupidly.

Lydia waves her off. “This is more important, and werewolf hearing is a bear.”

Melissa darts a glance to the werewolves playing in the water, and Erica answers her unspoken question. “No one’s paying attention right now, so they’re tuning us out. We’re cool. But if we talked much louder, they’d have no choice but to eavesdrop.”

“So,” Lydia repeats. “You and Stiles.”

“We have to do this? Now?” Melissa asks disbelievingly. When neither of the girls relent, she does. “Fine. If anything, it’s more like ‘Stiles and Stiles.’ I had nothing to do with it.”

Erica smirks at her, as if not believing her for a second. “So that bikini….”

God, it’s so obvious she’s trying to fit in with younger kids, isn’t it? Melissa groans and drops her head to her hands. “I _knew_ I should have worn the one-piece!”

Lydia shakes her head. “No, the bikini was the better choice. Have you seen Stiles today? I thought he was looking at me or Erica, but his attention is consistently directed toward you. Granted, I think you could be wearing a garbage bag and he’d still be looking, but… don’t hide that which benefits you.”

Melissa surreptitiously looks over at Stiles, who’s squinting at a group of preteens frolicking at the border of the deep end of the pool. “What if I don’t want the attention? What if it doesn’t benefit me?”

Not that she doesn’t want the attention, necessarily. But something like panic is curling in her gut, because she’s seen rejection destroy relationships before, and even though Stiles seems fine with Lydia despite their history, Melissa doesn’t want to run the risk of losing Stiles completely. Melissa has no idea how to handle this information, but she wants some level of foresight into how things will play out before she decides what to do.

“Please,” Erica snorts. “Every girl here wants that attention. The nose doesn’t lie.” She taps her nose.

“God, this pool must be terrible for that,” Melissa says, momentarily distracted. “Between the chlorine, the lotion, the noise… how do you guys stand it?”

“You learn to ignore a lot of things,” Erica replies, looking pleasantly surprised that Melissa thought to ask. “It kinda sucks, sure, but we’re here for Stiles, and it’s a great way to kill this heat. I don’t think any of us could be lifeguards, like Stiles, though.”

“Stop changing the subject,” Lydia says, not unlike a dog with a bone.

Melissa growls in frustration. “There’s _nothing there_. Jesus, I just found out about it five minutes ago.”

“You… what?” Erica blinks at her. “You didn’t know?”

Lydia makes a motion that Melissa spots just out of the corner of her eye and offers Melissa a bright smile when Melissa tries to catch it.

 _The nose doesn’t lie_.

“What’s going on here?” Melissa asks defensively. She doesn’t trust Lydia on a good day, and this is definitely not one of Melissa’s better days, so far.

“So now you know,” Lydia says, avoiding the question. “What do you want to do about it?”

Melissa purses her lips, annoyed at the diversion but accepting it. To be honest, she’s not sure she wants the answer, anyway. These girls are too mischievous, and Melissa doesn’t want to know what they have up their sleeves.

Regardless, Lydia’s returning question is just as hard to answer. Even if she did have the first clue about how to handle this situation—which, to be honest, she doesn’t—she wouldn’t want to tell these two. Not only are they an inexorable part of the pack that could seriously damage her relationship with the people she loves the most, they’re also young girls who probably wouldn’t hesitate to be flippant about whatever they learn.

“If it helps,” Erica says, popping a piece of bubblegum into her mouth, “I think you should go for it.”

Whatever Melissa was expecting her to say, that wasn’t it. Melissa imagined something closer to, “It’s cute that Stiles has a thing for you, and all, but you should really nip this thing in the bud before he gets too besotted. Let one of us healthy, nubile, young bombshells have a crack at him.”

Something like that.

“That’s ridiculous,” Melissa splutters, busying herself with her sunscreen. She can’t look the girls in the eye if she wanted to, not the way her body is reacting.

Because instead of revulsion or disgust, Melissa feels… nervous? And kind of excited, maybe? She doesn’t know how she feels, really, but even that confusion is a betrayal. This should be easy. She should know how to handle this. She _should_ nip it in the bud.

So why doesn’t she want to?

“Is it?” Lydia narrows those gorgeous green eyes at her, and Melissa wants to run and hide from her. “Why?”

“I’m—he’s—” Melissa stammers, rubbing lotion onto her legs a little more vigorously than before. It shouldn’t be this hard for her to see the glaring flaws in this idea. “Because it _is_ , okay?”

She glances up at Stiles briefly. She pointedly doesn’t notice how certain planes of his body have yet to fill out, like the delicate curve of his collarbone and how it crests on his shoulders. She definitely doesn’t imagine sucking on those knobs of bone to see them pink up, or how those lips—always reddened and open, like he’s just _waiting_ for something to _fill them_ —would look circled around a dusky nipple.

She doesn’t do those things, because that would be _ridiculous_.

“Hey, now,” Erica says, raising her hand innocently. “If that’s how you feel, okay. We’re not going to push.”

“He could be my _son_ ,” Melissa hisses, working sunscreen onto her toes. The next squirt of lotion comes out as a wet splatter, flicking droplets onto her chest and stomach. Great. She leans back and rubs the extra sunscreen away, angry at herself for getting flustered.

“Oh god, that poor kid,” Erica whispers gleefully.

Melissa looks up at her, then over to Stiles. Stiles, who is resolutely looking in another direction. His ears are bright red.

And like that, all the fight leaves Melissa’s body. She slumps back in her chair, resigned to the realization that there was no conceivable way for her to leave this mess unscathed.

“I don’t want to hurt his feelings,” she says softly. “I don’t… I don’t know. All I know is, I only get to see my son twice a year, and Stiles is his _best_ friend. I’m not about to do something that wrecks our relationship forever. His father left us, and Scott… he never recovered. Ever. If I hurt him, I don’t know what will happen. And I don’t want to know.”

Lydia sits back, assessing Melissa. “You know, I think I like you,” she says matter-of-factly. Melissa looks at her for a minute, wholly unimpressed at her tone.

“I mean, I should have known I would, I suppose,” Lydia continues. “Stiles tends to have great taste in women.” She grins and winks at Melissa. “And you’ve always been a strong backbone in the pack, even before you were officially part of it. I guess… I just expected more of Scott in you. More of that, ‘I’m right, I know what’s best, everyone should just blindly listen to me’ mentality.”

Somehow, that softens the blow of her rudeness. Not that Melissa appreciates the subtle insult to her son, but to be honest, Melissa knows exactly what Lydia means. “Well, he takes after me in some ways, and in others….”

Lydia laughs, and it’s a tinkling, beautiful thing that should attract fluffy wildlife and anthropomorphized houseware. “Say no more.”

“I like you, too,” Erica blurts, looking agonizingly embarrassed a moment later. “Fuck, I have no chill. Wait, shit! I mean—ugh. Never mind.”

“I grew up in a nunnery,” Melissa deadpans. “I’ve never heard curse words or used them. I am totally, completely innocent in every way.”

“Obviously,” Erica says, smirking but somehow still looking grateful. “Sorry. You can take the girl out of the epilepsy-induced misery, I guess, but….”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Lydia says, rolling her eyes, “go fluff your boobs and make every guy here cream his pants some more, you nerd.”

Melissa laughs before she can help herself. “Sorry,” she says to Erica, “but… she’s not wrong.”

Erica flips her hair over her shoulder and adjusts the straps of her top, not offended in the least. “Don’t mind if I do. Have fun, you two.”

She stands up and makes her way over to the snack hut, attracting stares from men and women alike.

“And, in the face of all that,” Lydia says, watching Erica strut away, “Stiles chose you.”

Melissa could choose to read something rude into that, but she doesn’t. She knows what Lydia means: Out of the world of women Stiles could choose to like, he’s choosing Melissa. That means something, even if she can’t suss out what that is right now.

Stiles tilts his head back and takes a long drink of water from his bottle, and Melissa watches his throat work. She can see what the girls see in Stiles. Lean, tall, and trim, Stiles’ gangly body has grown into something downright edible. He fits right in with the rest of the pack, now. He’s underwear model attractive, and for some _ungodly reason_ , he wants her. Melissa finds that both flattering and uncomfortable.

But there’s one thing Melissa really doesn’t understand. “Why are you encouraging this? What do you have to gain?”

Lydia smirks. “I appreciate that you think I’m that self-centered. Nine times out of ten, you’d be right. But honestly? This is for Stiles.”

Melissa crosses her arms, not believing her for a second. “Uh-huh.”

“Really,” Lydia says, looking more serious that Melissa has ever seen her. “I’m guessing you got the _Scott_ version of everything that went down in high school, but there was a lot more to it than that. Like, no offense, but a _lot_. Scott could stare a snake in the face and be surprised when it bit him.”

Lydia licks her lips and glances at the group in the pool. “It’s a long story, but let’s just say… I had some hard times. We all did. And when I was down on myself, Stiles was there for me. Allison, too, of course, but… in a different way. I… I guess I never appreciated the depth of Stiles’ feelings for me until he saw me at my most broken and still decided that I deserved to be loved. I’m not—” she flicks an imaginary speck of dust from her leg “—I’m not good at being there for people. But I’m here for Stiles. And I know that when he likes someone, he means it. So… I want you to really think about this before you shoot it down, because Stiles is something you really don’t want to let slip by. Don’t make my mistakes.”

… holy shit. Melissa blinks at Lydia for several long seconds. If she looks closely enough, she can see how much Lydia is affected by defending Stiles. She really means everything she’s saying.

This… this changes things.

Melissa has always known that Stiles is a fiercely loyal friend, so much so that she has knowingly relied on him the way that she might another parent. It’s just always been a fact: Scott is asthmatic and endlessly cheerful, and Stiles is a caretaker who needs a source of positivity to keep himself from getting lost in himself.

It makes Stiles sound a lot like an adult, if Melissa is being honest.

But no, God, this is _Stiles_. Melissa can’t rationalize a relationship with _Stiles_. And more importantly, does she even want to? If none of the interrelational factors were at play, would Melissa even be interested in someone as young as him? She’s laughed off the cougar lines about her friendship with Derek more times than she can count, but they were never _serious_.

Melissa dares a look up at Stiles, on his lifeguard chair and thinks about it. His tongue is as sharp as his eyes, and that checks a lot of tallies in Melissa’s book. And like she noticed earlier, he’s getting to be drop dead gorgeous. He certainly fills out those swim trunks well enough.

Sweet Jesus, she’s thinking about Stiles Stilinski’s ass. What has her life become?

In the sanctity of her own mind, Melissa allows herself this purely hypothetical objectification. Nothing has to come of it, she tells herself, and no one has to know.

As soon as she lets down that particular barrier, Melissa realizes that yeah, okay, she is _totally_ attracted to Stiles. If she’d paid attention during her conversation with Stiles in Derek’s apartment, she’d have realized it a _lot_ sooner. Stiles is the perfect blend of eager and experienced. He could either know exactly how to treat a woman, or he could be earnestly pliable and ready to learn.

Melissa isn’t sure which option is better. They’re both stupidly hot.

“You’re interested.” Lydia looks somewhere between fascinated and triumphant. “I _knew_ it.”

The members of the pack choose that moment to pull themselves out of the water, so Melissa never has a chance to reply. Not that she had any kind of reply lined up, but anything would be better than feeling Lydia’s smugness radiating towards her from a few feet away. The truth is, even if Melissa _were_ interested (because there’s a difference between acknowledging attraction to someone and being interested in pursuing something with that person, _thank you_ ), she’s not sure she would actually act on it. Stiles is still Stiles, and there are a thousand roadblocks between them.

Luckily, Melissa doesn’t have to confront it much more after that. The werewolves have successfully petered themselves out, so conversation about Stiles has stopped. Melissa hides herself in her book and does her best to pretend that nothing out of the ordinary happened. She almost succeeds.

Stiles doesn’t get another break until his shift has ended, but he immediately jogs up to them once his replacement has taken the chair.

"So, what did you guys think? Did you feel secure in your pool time adventures?"

"Never safer," Allison says, kissing him sweetly on the cheek. "You fill out a chair very nicely."

Stiles grins self-deprecatingly. "Yeah, it isn't the most fun position in the world."

"You know a lot about fun positions?" Erica asks lightly. Melissa stares a hole into her current page so she doesn’t look up at Stiles and give herself away. Because apparently she has something to give away. _Christ_.

"Matter of fact, I do. Not that you’ll ever find out," Stiles shoots back easily. "So, pizza at Derek's at seven, right?"

"That’s the plan," Derek says.

When the group starts to pack things away, Melissa stands and slips her terry cover-up over her head. She shoulders her bag and turns, gasping when she almost runs straight into Stiles. "Oh, sorry, Stiles," she says, resting her hand on his chest before she thinks to stop herself. She swallows and pulls out the ever-safe mom act, careful to avoid looking him in the eye. "Oh, you should really put some aloe on that. Did you even use sunscreen today?"

"Once," Stiles says, shrugging. "I kinda forgot. I’m sure I’ll have learned my lesson by tomorrow. Hey, are you coming to the thing tonight?"

She had planned to, but now she’s not sure if it’s such a good idea. The last thing she wants to do is process some deeply confusing emotions in a room of werewolves who can smell feelings. "I’m not sure. The sun really took it out of me."

She really should make sure to prepare excuses for the future, because she’s very bad at coming up with them on the spot.

Stiles shifts on his feet, unable to fully hide his disappointment. "I understand. The sun can be pretty hellish.”

Melissa cringes. Forty years old, and she still can’t handle herself in front of men. (In front of _Stiles_. _Jesus._ ) “I think I’ll go home and shower, and then I’ll see how I feel. I really need to rehydrate.”

“No, yeah, I totally get it,” Stiles says, giving her a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. God, he is so painfully obvious, Melissa can’t believe she didn’t see it before today. “See you around, Ms. McCall.”

“I told you,” she says, “call me Melissa.” She can’t contemplate this _whatever it is_ properly if Stiles can’t even call her by her first name.

Stiles crosses his arms then scratches a hand through his hair, unable to stand still. At least this, Melissa is used to. “Melissa. Right.”

They pack up and leave, and Scott makes up some ridiculous excuse to go home with Allison until the pizza party. Melissa rolls her eyes and waves him off, secretly happy that she’ll have the next couple of hours to herself so she can process all of this upheaval in private. She almost makes a successful escape to her car, but Derek catches her as she’s unlocking her door and seconds Stiles’ vote. “You should come tonight.”

Melissa sighs, gearing up for another long and complicated conversation about Stiles. “Derek….”

“Hey.” He raises his hand defensively. “I’m not here to offer you advice one way or another. I’m just saying, I don’t want this situation to make you a stranger to the pack. Don’t let this isolate you.”

Because if she chooses to back away now, she realizes, she’ll be self-conscious about rejoining in the future. Melissa can see it happening already; she’s pulling away because she’s scared, and that will compound on itself until she avoids everyone. She’s surprised that Derek picked up on it that quickly, though. “That’s observant of you.”

He shrugs. “Don’t want you to make my mistakes.”

That, Melissa understands. It’s taken Derek a long time to feel comfortable with his betas, and she’s sure he’s had to overcome a lot of fear to get there. She sighs again, nodding. “I might need a couple glasses of wine, but I’ll be there.”

“Have them. I’ll have someone pick you up around 6:45.” Derek gives her a small, encouraging smile.

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Melissa puts her bag in the trunk of her car and heads for the driver’s seat. “Thanks.”

Derek nods, and he grabs the car door before she has a chance to fully close it. “Oh, and Melissa?”

She turns to him, slightly impatient and craving that first glass of wine. “Yeah?”

He looks apologetic. “For what it’s worth? Lydia’s been right about long shots more times than I can count.”

“She dated Jackson,” Melissa points out.

He grimaces. “Well, there is that.”

She snorts and then sighs. “This is crazy, Derek. This is _insane_.”

He shrugs and points at his own chest. “Werewolf.”

He’s got her there. “Touché,” she says laughing. “Alright, message received. Now let me go home and mull this over, okay?”

Derek lets go of the door and Melissa closes it, more amused than anything else. The last thing she expected was any kind of endorsement from Derek—not about something this _wild_ —and now that she has it, she’s not sure what the hell she should do with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is my favorite. See you then!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Great news—TODAY'S MY BIRTHDAY. So, happy birthday to me, happy reading to you. And this is my favorite chapter (that doesn't contain smut) so... DOUBLE FUN.
> 
> Enjoy!

Her thoughts about Stiles grow more turbulent on the drive home. Regardless of how Lydia and Derek feel, she’s still unsure about reciprocating Stiles’ interest in her. She doesn’t want an actual relationship, not at this point in her life, and not with _Stiles_ , of all people. Melissa doesn’t know what Stiles wants—or if _he_ even knows what he wants—but she’s sure that acknowledging his attraction to her will permanently affect their friendship, no matter what. Is there any good outcome that could come from this?

That line of thought is too big for her to handle right now, Melissa concludes after ten minutes of agony. She needs time to figure things out. Time and alcohol.

She showers once she gets home, itchy from the chlorine, and pours herself a glass of cabernet sauvignon before confronting her wardrobe. She wants something comfortable for the slightly burnt skin on her shoulders, but she also wants to look sexy because, despite her surety that she has _no_ idea what she’s doing, this whole “a ripped twenty year old wants your bod” thing has her feeling a little confident.

She finishes the glass of wine and pours herself another.

_And really_ , she thinks, _I deserve this. After this dry spell—more like a drought at this point—I deserve to feel a little sexy._ She picks out her jeans and shoes, and plays music on her phone.

She pours another glass of wine.

Fortunately, she doesn’t have a lot of clothing that isn’t scrubs, so picking out a shirt is relatively simple. She avoids the shirts she typically wears on dates, knowing Scott will pick up on that clue in a heartbeat, and chooses the most attractive option from what’s left over: A flannel button-down worn soft with age.

She spends several seconds trying and failing to apply eyeliner, at which she’s mediocre on the best of days, let alone after three glasses of wine. She gives up and tries for mascara, which involves less hand-eye coordination. She mostly succeeds at it.

Warm and blissfully calm, Melissa allows herself another glass for getting ready so quickly. Really, this is an unmitigated success on her part; it deserves rewards. Getting dressed is complicated. In fact, humans are the only organisms with the coordination to fully clothe themselves. She allows herself a drink just for being human.

The door knocks—nope, wait. Doors don’t knock.

Someone knocks on the door.

Melissa stands from the couch and glances at the clock in the kitchen. It takes her a few seconds to see that it reads 6:45. Her Hale Pack Chauffeur has arrived. So fancy.

She smoothes a hand over her hair and answers the door.

Of course it’s Stiles. Of course it is. Melissa should have known Derek would be evil enough to send Stiles.

She hates Derek. And his abs and his eyebrows and his dumb, beautiful emotions. Dumb.

“Derek said you’d want a ride?” Stiles says, looking expectant. “Scott’s with Allison, I guess?”

“Yeah,” Melissa says, doing her best to sober up in thirty seconds flat. “Uh, yeah, he’s with Allison.”

Something in Stiles’ eyes shifts and he grins. “Have you been _drinking_?” 

Well, that went about as well as could be expected. “Uh… no?”

“You _have_ ,” Stiles says, looking like a kid at Christmas. “I haven’t seen you drunk in _years_. What brought this on?”

Melissa is sorely tempted to spill the beans for him, because in the haze of decent cab sav, this whole _Melissa has to be the responsible adult_ thing is really, truly unfair.

But dumping all that angst on a kid who, so far, has done nothing but have a fairly innocent crush on her would be unfair, too. He didn’t cause all this drama, he just… is attracted to her.

Melissa still can’t get over that.

“I had a rough day?”

Stiles slides past her into the house and finds the nearly empty bottle of wine on the counter where she’s left it. “Damn, rough day indeed. Wanna talk about it?”

_When I was down on myself, Stiles was the one who was there for me_.

Melissa fingers the lip of her wineglass. “Not really? It’s not that I don’t want to tell you, it’s just… I’m still working through it, myself?”

“Fair enough,” Stiles accepts easily. He swirls the wine in the bottle. “I’d help you finish this, but I’m driving. So… do you want to drink it, or should I cork this back up and put it in the fridge?”

_I can think of a couple things you could cork up for me_ , Melissa jokes to herself. She stifles a snort and snags the wine bottle from him. “I’m no quitter.”

“‘Atta girl!” Stiles enthuses, eyes sharp like they were that night at Derek’s apartment. “So this is why Derek sent me over?”

“I had no idea he’d send _you_ ,” Melissa gripes, pouring the last of the bottle into her glass. Stiles stiffens, and she realizes what she’s just said. “Not that you’re bad! Just that, uh, you know. It’s weird. For me to be drunk in front of you. Given that I’ve basically watched you grow up.”

Yeah. That’s a good half-truth.

She busies herself by cleaning out the wine bottle and throwing it into the recycling bin. There’s no way she’s going to survive tonight, not if she can’t hold herself together for five minutes in her own home. Her only hope is that Stiles will get sucked into a conversation or game with other members of the pack, and she’ll be able to blend into the background.

Slim chance. God, she is _so fucked_.

“Absolutely, the people you trust the most are definitely the last people you should be around when intoxicated,” Stiles says, nodding as if playing along. “It’s questionable strangers or bust, that’s what I always say.”

He’s so perfectly funny, too, it’s like _serendipity_. Except wait, no, it’s not, because she can’t encourage this. She _can’t_.

“And what if I don’t trust myself?” Melissa mutters, downing the rest of her wine.

“Pardon?”

_Shit_. Melissa thought she spoke too quietly to hear, but Stiles’ brow is furrowed. “Uh, nothing?”

Something strange passes over Stiles face, something Melissa is too drunk to fully decipher. Or partially decipher, if she’s being honest. It’s a face, okay?

“We should get going,” he says finally. “Wouldn’t want to be late and miss out on all the dirty jokes.”

“Oh, my virgin ears,” Melissa jokes, rinsing out her wineglass. She leaves the glass in the sink and freezes. What if Stiles took that seriously? She’s not a virgin. She’s supposed to be, like, wooing him, right? That’s the plan?

Melissa can’t quite remember the plan. But it had to do with Stiles, and getting herself all over that hot body. Probably. And being a forty-two-year-old virgin isn’t going to woo anyone. She has to fix this. “I’ve had sex.”

Wait. That’s not going to woo anyone, either. Shit.

Stiles makes a muffled choking sound, like he’s holding back a peal of laughter. “Yeah, I kinda got that drift,” he says. “What with, you know, Scott’s existence, and all.”

Melissa groans and hides her face in her hands. “I should stay home,” she decides aloud. “I should absolutely not be around people.”

“Hey, now.” There are warm hands on her wrists, pulling them away from her face. Stiles’ warm brown eyes smile down at her. “You are way too funny right now to abandon. So if you stay home, I’ll have to stay here with you. Who knows what great lines I might miss, otherwise? But see, I was promised free pizza, and I’m _also_ loathe to pass that up.”

So her options are go to Derek’s apartment, where she will be surrounded by werewolves who are way, way too perceptive for their own good, or stay home, where she’ll have Stiles’ undivided attention.

The answer is obvious. She doesn’t trust herself around Stiles by himself, not with the thoughts tumbling through her head right now. “We should get going, then.”

“Good,” Stiles says, grinning. “Let’s go.”

He clearly takes mercy on her, because he chatters about his first day as a lifeguard the entire way there. It mostly involved sitting, as Melissa expected, but Stiles seems to have loved it anyway. “I’m literally paid to people-watch. Shit, I do that for _free_.”

They get to the apartment, and Melissa manages to hide the worst of her stumbles from Stiles’ notice. Derek, however, isn’t so easy to fool. His eyebrows quirk when he sees her, and Melissa knows he’s laughing at her internally. “How was the wine?”

“Oh, it was _great_ ,” Stiles says from behind Melissa. She has the sudden urge to lean back into him and close her eyes, and _no Melissa, stop that._ “It must have been, anyway, because she was just finishing the bottle when I arrived.”

Jesus. Melissa wishes her head would clear already, but she’s far too intoxicated for that. She shouldn’t have had those last two glasses.

“Was she, now?” Derek stands aside and lets them into the apartment, eyes sparkling. Most of the pack, including Allison and Lydia, is sitting in the living room, which means they’ve all heard Stiles.

“I hate you,” Melissa murmurs under her breath, sure Derek can hear her. The sparkle in his eyes brightens. 

“And now she’s going to have water,” Stiles announces, headed for the kitchen. “As am I.”

“Who’s having water?” Isaac pops out from the hallway bathroom. “Oh, hey, guys! Melissa, have you been drinking?”

“ _I hate you_ ,” she whispers again, sending Derek a dark look. “Red wine helps soothe sunburns,” she tells Isaac. A truth hiding a more relevant truth. “I got a little carried away.”

“We all do,” Lydia says, walking up to her and hugging her, like they’re great friends now. “Invite me next time, I am a _great_ drunk.”

“She’s not wrong,” Scott confirms from his spot in the living room. “I was pretty surprised. No offense, Lydia. Hey, Mom!”

“Hey, sweetheart,” Melissa sighs. She knew Scott would be here, but somehow she hadn’t truly associated that with his active presence in the room. Now she’s drunk in front of her son and all his friends. That’s not going to win her any cool points. “I guess I’m ‘that girl’ at the party, huh?”

Stiles joins her, holding water, and steers her to a spot on a couch, plopping down next to her. “We’ve all been that girl at the party. Even the guys.”

“Oh, god, remember graduation?” Allison asks conspiratorially. “When we got Derek plastered?”

“No one remembers graduation,” Derek says smoothly, taking the spot next to Boyd. His eyes flash red, but there’s no real threat to it. “No one.”

“Of course,” Allison says, smirking. “My mistake.”

“The sombrero wore itself,” Stiles adds, nodding. “ _Miguel_.”

Derek takes a sip of water. “Damn straight, it did.”

“Consider it an induction to the pack,” Lydia finishes, sitting on Melissa’s other side. “So, Stiles, was being a lifeguard everything you hoped for?”

Stiles launches into his story, revisiting the moments he shared with Melissa on the way over. Melissa sits back and drinks her water, glad that they’ve moved on. She pays more attention to Stiles this time, trying to see if she can remember any of the events he noticed during his shift to orient herself. The mental exercise helps her to sober up, blessedly.

By the time the pizza arrives, the conversation has turned to Boyd’s work with his father, which is far more entertaining than anyone expected it to be. Boyd’s father seems to have quite the interesting crew of regulars at the body shop. Melissa wasn’t aware that body shops even could have regulars.

The apartment gets loud as the pack fights over the boxes of pizza. Melissa takes advantage of the distraction and slips into the bathroom. She splashes water on the lower half of her face and swipes it across the back of her neck. She only has to deal with a couple more hours of this, and she can hide in her bed for a day.

She doesn’t think she’s been gone all that long, but by the time she reenters the room, the pizza boxes are scattered like skeletons across the floor. She must have missed the rush. Damn, she could have used some food.

“Hey,” Stiles says, taking a plate off the table. “I figured you’d want some. You still like Hawaiian, right?”

Melissa sits and accepts the pizza. “Yeah,” she says, feeling a warmth that has nothing to do with the wine. “Yeah, it’s my favorite. Thanks.”

Stiles grins, and for once, it’s soft. “Sure.”

"This was a lot of pizza," she says, dragging her eyes away from the curl of his lips. She counts seven boxes, and there's only eight people to eat them all.

"Werewolf metabolism," Isaac offers.

"Swimmer's metabolism," Stiles echoes.

That's right. Melissa remembers how much food Scott started eating after he turned, and she wonders how could have ever forgotten. "I wish I had an excuse like that."

"You're not looking so bad," Stiles says, taking a slow sip of water. Melissa bites the inside of her lip and tries to ignore how much she reacts to his words.

"Hey, hey, hey." Scott throws a balled up napkin in Stiles' face. "None of that with my mom."

Stiles blinks, looking innocent. "I'm not doing anything, Scotty, I'm just saying she's not, you know, obese or anything."

"Whatever, man," Scott snorts, clearly not buying it. "I remember Irene."

"Who's Irene?" Erica asks, looking eager for gossip.

"No one," Stiles says at the same time Scott says, "A girl Stiles nabbed with, get this, 'Nice eyeshadow.'"

"It was a simple compliment!" Stiles exclaims while everyone laughs. "It had all these colors! I didn't know she would take that as an invitation!"

"You weren't complaining," Scott says between giggles.

"Are you serious?" Lydia crows. "How did she not think you were gay?"

"That's stereotypical and rude," Stiles replies deftly. "Come on, no one wants to hear about my sex life, move on."

"Actually, yeah, we kind of do," Allison says. "Scott keeps telling us what a charmer you are. What's the secret?"

Stiles glances over at Melissa, who raises the hand not holding her pizza. "I'm just as curious as anyone," she says. "I saw you go through puberty."

“Ouch!” Stiles pretends to act offended, and suddenly, his leg is right up against hers, pressing a warm line into her skin from knee to hip. Melissa tries to ignore it and fails horribly.

“I try to pretend those years never happened," Stiles continues. His ears are bright red. "Ugh, you guys really want to do this? Fine. I mean, I don't know. Just be nice, I guess? A lot of guys in college are real jerks to women. So… just, like, _don’t_ do that. Treat women like they're people, and respect their personal convictions over your own."

"Would've won me over," Lydia says, saluting him with her wine cooler.

"What do you mean 'would have?'" Boyd says, and the entire place erupts in laughter. Even Lydia.

"So you have a string of one night stands by preaching respect?" Derek questions, looking impressed.

"What filth have you spread about me?" Stiles gapes at Scott. "Jesus, so much for best-friendship. You're fired."

"He's mostly complimentary, with a side of awe," Erica reassures him. "Mostly it's us nagging him because you don't bother telling the rest of us about yourself. Answer the question."

Stiles looks utterly tortured, and Melissa would put a stop to it, if she weren’t so entertained by it all. Maybe she’s enjoying watching him flounder, maybe she’s curious about his sex life for her own reasons, she can’t rightly tell. Either way, she wants to hear this answer as much as anyone.

“I can't believe I have to say this, but okay," Stiles says. "Women like sex as much as guys. But honestly? A lot of guys don’t know what they hell they’re doing. I spent so long being virginal, I… got to learning. Just to prepare. And then I took a couple Women’s Studies courses for kicks, and I got really fired up about a lot of the social disparities between men and women. So, if I'm talking to a girl, I make it clear that I'm interested in her as a person. Most of my 'one night stands,' as you call them, continue to be my friends. It's not complicated."

"You really are Casanova," Lydia breathes. "Like, did you watch a documentary, or something?"

Melissa silently agrees with her, but at the same time, the idea of it makes her feel uncomfortable, both as a mother figure and as a potential love interest in his life. Is this what she might be signing herself up for? He’s been making eyes at her for over a week, but what if he’s just interested in her as his next fuck? She's not sure she's okay with that. She’s not some carefree co-ed, she’s his best friend’s mother. She thinks she’d need to come to an agreement with him before deciding to pursue anything.

"No," Stiles sighs, rubbing his hands over his face. "You guys make me sound like a creep. Jesus. It's not like I've slept with hundreds of women. God, even _my_ skin is crawling now."

"Speaking of skin crawling, Dad says there's a shapeshifter about three counties over," Allison says, as if just remembering it. "We should probably do some research to prepare."

All at once, Stiles’ sex life is forgotten as the conversation splits into several small discussions. Melissa can only catch glimpses of each, but it sounds like the werewolves are talking about fighting strategies (she hears the words "loose skin" and promptly stops listening) while the humans are going over shapeshifter myths. Melissa sits back, a little awed, and watches the previously casual group of friends turn into a well-structured fighting team. It's kind of beautiful. Also terrifying.

Melissa tries to keep herself awake, but the conversations fade to a pleasant hum as the wine takes its toll on her system. She thinks she’s managing to stay awake until she feels fabric on her cheek and realizes it’s the cloth of Stiles’ t-shirt. She must have fallen asleep on his shoulder.

“Ah, sorry,” he says softly from above her. “I was trying to let you sleep, but there’s a seam right where you are, and there’s a little patch of sunburn there.”

Melissa sits up, sliding a hand down her face to hide her embarrassment. Her head complains at the movement; her wine is wearing off and the hangover is starting. “Patch? Sweetheart, your body is one big ‘patch’ of sunburn right now.”

“Just have to let it tan,” Stiles replies, shrugging. “I’ll be okay. I always am.”

Melissa blinks up at him, and later, she’ll blame her tiredness for the honesty. “Are you?”

Stiles’ brow furrows, and he looks at Melissa a little more intently than before. Melissa wants to look away, to take it back, but she doesn’t. Not once, all day, has she stopped to think what _Stiles_ might want in all this. What _Stiles_ might add to figuring all of this out. If _Stiles_ is okay. That seems like a glaring oversight right now.

“I’m going to take Melissa home,” Stiles says to the group without taking his eyes off her. “She seems pretty tuckered out, and I know I could sleep for a solid twelve hours.”

“Sounds good,” says Scott, nodding. “I’m gonna get a ride back to Allison’s, then I’ll bike home.”

Melissa walks with Stiles out of the apartment, unwilling to break the heavy silence between them. Once they’re both seated in car, Stiles inhales, thinking for a moment, and breaks the silence.

“I am okay. I… I think, for the first time in a long time, I mean that.”

“I’m glad,” Melissa says honestly. “A lot of us were worried. Some of us—namely your dad and I—half-expected you to go to college and go off the deep end. John almost didn’t let you go.”

“I know,” Stiles says, grinning down at his lap. “He kept leaving fliers for local colleges on the dining room table. Dad’s a lot of things, but subtle isn’t one of them.”  He purses his lips and drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “If I tell you something, will you promise not to tell Dad?”

“Of course, Stiles.”

“I almost did go off the deep end,” he whispers. “I… I barely held on senior year of high school. I hoped that I would feel better when I left the city, like the nightmares had something to do with the town line, or something. I don’t know. But they didn’t. I got moved to a single halfway through my first semester because I kept screaming in my sleep and waking my roommates. Someone offered me drugs once—MDMA, ketamine, whatever I wanted—to take the edge off. So I took them. A lot. Adderall to get me through class, and tranquilizers to get me through the night. It worked for… a month? Maybe two? But eventually the nightmares got through that, too. And let me tell you, bad dreams get worse when you can’t just wake up out of them.”

Melissa wants to cry. She had no idea. God, she had no _clue_ this had happened to Stiles, to the beautiful, intelligent boy she’s watched turn into a beautiful, intelligent man. She wishes she could have done more to shield him from the world, him _and_ Scott. How could she call herself any kind of decent mother when this had happened to both boys she’d raised?

“I should take you home,” Stiles says suddenly. He runs a hand over his face, pink and shiny from the sun. “You need to get to bed.”

Melissa stays quiet, thinking things over, while Stiles drives back to her house. Does anyone else in the pack know about this? Surely, someone else must have picked up on it. Scott, at least, or Lydia. She can’t imagine Stiles could have kept it a secret from everyone.

Could he?

Once they reach her house, Melissa hesitates before getting out of the car. “Who else knows?”

Stiles stares her dead in the eye. “No one. You’re the first person I’ve told.”

Melissa nods, refusing to break eye contact. “I’ll keep your secret. But Stiles, if you _ever_ do that again….”

Stiles smiles self-deprecatingly. “You’ll tell my dad?”

“God, no,” she says. Stiles looks relieved until she continues with, “I’ll tell Derek.”

Stiles’ face pales. “Oh, you’re _evil_.”

Melissa shrugs. “Working with what I’ve got. You’re valuable to a lot of people, Stilinski. Valuable… to me.” It’s the first time she’s said it since finding out about his crush, and _god_ , was that only _today_? “We almost lost you once. I’ll be _damned_ if we lose you again.”

Stiles glances down at her lips, and damn it, Melissa wants to kiss him. She licks her lips, and he looks tempted.

But in the end, he chickens out, looking down to his lap, instead. “Thanks. I really am doing better. I promise.”

Melissa takes that as her cue to leave. She opens the door and slides out of the seat. “Goodnight, Stiles.”

His honeyed eyes glow in the moonlight. “Goodnight, Melissa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day to people who care about Valentine's Day. For the rest of you, enjoy another day of February!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple tiny notes!
> 
> AO3 does this cute thing where the "end of chapter" note for Chapter 1 becomes the "end of story" note as soon as you add an additional chapter. I'm usually pretty good at fixing this when I post a Chapter 2, but I must not have done my job properly. It should be fixed now! Let me know if it isn't.
> 
> TODAY IS iFLAIL'S BIRTHDAY! She is my ride-or-die in this fanfic life—and she is the editor for this story, so you know—and I am stupidly glad to have her in my life. Seriously, we understand each other on a wavelength that I never expected to find in an editor/beta-reader, and she makes everything I produce 1000x better. Love you, amiga. <3
> 
> Okay. Go. Read.

Sunday greets her like a massive punch to the head. Wine hangovers, unlike wine itself, seem to get worse with age. Melissa typically doesn’t drink an entire bottle anymore, and now she distinctly remembers why.

She feels better by Monday, but when she walks into work, Suzie immediately sniffs her out. “Looks like someone’s had a fun weekend.”

Suzie has been working at the hospital for years, right alongside Melissa. They joined as fresh-faced graduates the same summer, and they both had their asses handed to them over bedpan duty. Suzie is without a doubt Melissa’s best friend, hard-working as she is funny, and Melissa doubts she’d have gotten this far without Suzie by her side.

“It was a roller coaster, I’ll give you that.” Melissa stretches her shoulders and tries to perk up. “How was your weekend?”

Suzie waves her off. “Boring. Listen, I need to go check on Mrs. Davenport and switch out the laundry in Butler’s room, but then I want details on this ‘roller coaster.’”

Melissa groans as Suzie walks away. She shouldn’t have been honest. She doesn’t want to rehash this controversy any more than she already has, especially with the one person in her life that doesn’t already know something about it. Alas, now she’s pigeon-holed herself into reliving the drama for another few hours. Hopefully Suzie won’t judge her too harshly.

While Suzie does her rounds, Melissa clocks in and checks on a few of her patients. Today’s a bit slow around the hospital, since most of the early summer rush has already been released. She drags her feet to avoid Suzie’s interrogation, but she’s back at the nurse’s station within half an hour, anyway.

“Okay,” Suzie says, sticking one of the lollipops they give kids in her mouth. “Spill.”

And Melissa hates Stiles again, because he gets to have his crush without answering to anyone, while she’s here agonizing over it. She has to be the one to make adult decisions about something she didn’t even ask for. Really, this isn’t fair. “Stiles has the hots for me.”

Suzie chokes on her sucker. “Stiles? Mr. Fall-Over-My-Own-Feet-And-Break-Everything, Stiles? _Really_?”

And then Melissa relaxes, because she trusts Suzie. Of _course_ she trusts Suzie. Suzie’s watched Stiles grow up, too, and she’ll understand Melissa’s conflict in a way the pack can’t. “Insane, right?”

“You’re telling me. How the hell is that twerp, anyway? He doesn’t come around much anymore.”

“He’s good,” Melissa says, thinking back to Stiles’s soft, _I really am doing better_. “Grown up. He’s a lifeguard at the pool this summer.”

Suzie’s round face broadens into a wide grin. “No shit. You’ve got a lifeguard after you? Welcome back to senior year of high school, missy.”

Melissa laughs, and from there, it’s easy. She tells Suzie about the night at Derek’s apartment, the day at the pool, and her embarrassing descent into drunkenness the following evening. She avoids any mentions of werewolves, of course, but that’s easy to navigate, because there’s still _so much_ story to tell. By the time she’s done, Suzie looks absolutely delighted.

“First Derek Hale, now this?” She runs a hand over her belly, which has softened over the past decade. “Geez, I really need to get back into shape. I’m missing out.”

“You have a wonderful husband and three kids,” Melissa reminds her, rolling her eyes. “You’re missing out on nothing. You’d never give them up, and you know it.”

She was a bridesmaid in Suzie’s wedding seventeen years ago, and Patrick still looks at Suzie with that same devotion he had on that day. If she didn’t love Suzie so much, Melissa would be envious.

“I wouldn’t,” Suzie admits. “But damn, Melissa. Stiles is what, twenty? Twenty-one? That _has_ to feel pretty good.”

For the first time, Melissa allows herself to agree with that. “It’s very flattering, that’s for sure.”

Suzie hums. “Is that all it is? Flattering?”

And here’s the part of it that Melissa hates. “No, it isn’t.”

“Ooh,” Suzie says, widening her eyes theatrically. “The plot thickens.”

“McCall.” Whidby, a doctor in the ICU, jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Need your help in room three for a minute.”

Suzie, faced away from Whidby, pulls a face, and Melissa bites her lip to hide her grin. “Yes, sir.”

The ‘minute’ ends up taking an hour, and Suzie’s off helping a patient when Melissa returns to the station. Fifteen minutes later, Suzie plops down in her chair and, without missing a beat, goes, “The plot thickens?”

Melissa laughs. “Jesus, Suze. You’re relentless.”

“Honey,” Suzie says, “this is better than Danielle Steel by a mile. Come on, lay it on me.”

Melissa throws her hands up helplessly. “Do I even need to say it? No matter how I feel, there’s no _way_ anything could happen between us. He’s Scott’s best friend. You and I have _both_ watched him grow up. This is so _wrong_.”

“But you’re not just flattered,” Suzie points out. “Are you?”

Melissa groans and palms her forehead. “No. Like you said, he’s a hot twenty-one-year-old lifeguard. His body is something I would have drooled over when I was his age. He’s sexy and smart to talk to. And… the fact that he already knows me is really attractive, too. I’ve spent so long being myself around him, I don’t feel the need to be anything other than me. At this age… that’s compelling. The dating scene is typically pretty stale. Not having to deal with all that sounds _great_.”

“That sounds like one hell of a winner to me,” Suzie says, flipping through something on her phone. “Oh god, he _has_ grown up. Yowza.”

Melissa looks over her shoulder, and Suzie has pulled up Stiles’ Facebook page. Erica posted a picture from Stiles’ first shift captioned ‘I’ll give you a flotation device to hold onto.’ The picture shows off Stiles’ musculature very well, and Melissa can tell that Suzie is about to back up Lydia and Derek in encouraging this. “Oh, Suze, no.”

“Okay, what do you want me to say?” Suzie asks, putting away her phone. “That this is a little fucked up? It is. That the fallout from this particular failed relationship could really hurt Scott? It could. You and Stiles are the two biggest people in that boy’s life. If you cause a fracture in his world, it could change everything. Is that what you want to hear?”

Melissa looks at her, gobsmacked and horrified. “Yeah,” she breathes. “Yeah, that about sums it up.”

“Congrats, now you’ve heard it. But we both know Scott, and we both know Stiles,” Suzie continues, crossing her arms and resting an ankle on her knee. “And you’re still not just flattered. I say, Stiles is smart enough to have thought this over, too. We both know that kid’s too smart for his own good. If you’re really worried, you might just talk to him about it and see what he says.”

“‘Hey, I think you’re hotter than lava, and I want you to lie to your best friend about having an illicit affair with me. What do you think?’” Melissa snorts. “Yeah, that’ll go over well.”

“Well, if you put it _that_ way,” Suzie replies, rolling her eyes. “What about, ‘I want to be responsible about decisions regarding my son, and I respect your intelligence enough to recognize that this is a two-way street.’”

That… sounds a lot better. “Damn.”

Suzie sighs and puts a hand on Melissa’s knee. “Hey, I’m not saying this isn’t complicated. If you really don’t want to tangle with the possible consequences, no one would blame you. Stiles would bounce back after a little bit and find someone else.”

Melissa’s gut rolls at the thought of Stiles with someone else. If that isn’t damning, Melissa doesn’t know what is. She doesn’t even want to give up on the _idea_ of Stiles.

She’s attracted right back.

_Shit_.

“But that’s not what you want.” Suzie gives her a knowing smile. “Is it?”

Damn close friendships and their emotional intimacy. Damn them to hell. “No,” Melissa sighs. “Does that make me a terrible person?”

“Of course not!” Suzie chuckles. “You may have watched him grow up, but Stiles is _not_ your son, and he’s an adult now. He has no problem being attracted to you, and he has the same investment in Scott that you do. Is _he_ a terrible person?”

“He’s a twenty-year-old man,” Melissa points out. “They’re _all_ terrible people.”

Suzie laughs loudly, waving off the curious gaze of Mrs. Phelps from one of the nearby rooms. “Good point.”

Melissa thinks about Suzie’s point. Is she overcomplicating this? Scott might not have to find out. Between spending time with Deaton or Allison, he hasn’t been around the house anyway. There’s a possibility, slim as it may be, that she could really carry out something of a fling with Stiles.

And now that she thinks about it, she kind of wants to. The risk of it makes it all the more exciting, and Melissa hasn’t felt this sexually alive in years. Well, aside from the nights she takes to have some me-time, of course, but those have gotten tired, too. She wants some thrill, and the situation with Stiles is feeding into that desire perfectly.

“I’m just so scared,” she whispers finally. “I only get to see Scott twice a year, Suze. And you know how he was after Rafe left. He only recovered because Stiles and I were there for him, and even then it took years. If he finds out about this… he won’t have me _or_ Stiles to turn to. I don’t know what it would do him. I can’t lose my son.”

“I know, sweetie,” Suzie says quietly. “I remember those days. But Scott’s a lot older now. _If_ he finds out, which he very well might _not_ , there’s no saying what he’d think. I know he’d never abandon you, though. Even if you hurt his feelings, he’d get over it. You’ve been a great mom to him. You know that, and he knows that.”

Melissa nods, because every word Suzie has spoken is the truth. Scott wasn’t just mad at Rafe for leaving, he was mad because Rafe hurt Melissa. Scott’s always been a mama’s boy, even during his rebellious phase—and the werewolf phase immediately following it. That’s why this is so scary for her. But worst case scenario, if Scott does find out, Melissa thinks he’ll demand answers more than he’ll run away. She can handle that.

Something inside Melissa settles, and she finally feels like she’s back on solid ground. _She can handle this_.

“Okay,” she says aloud. “Okay. I’m going to do this.”

What ‘this’ is, she isn’t so sure about. Making the decision to accept the potential for a relationship—of some sort or another—is leagues away from actually starting one. But whatever happens, Melissa will do her best to roll with it.

“Hell yes, you are,” Suzie says triumphantly. “And hey, when you do? I want _details_.”

 

* * *

 

Rather anticlimactically, it seems, Melissa doesn’t have a chance to see anyone from the pack for days. From what she’s gleaned from Scott, they’re busy pulling together everything they know on shapeshifters, just in case the threat Allison mentioned at the party comes too close to Beacon Hills. They’ve taken to having nightly meetings until the issue is resolved, and the loss is surprisingly palpable to Melissa, who ends up starting a new show on Netflix to pass the time.

She receives a text message from an unknown number on Friday evening, when she’s just settled down with a snack.

**7:45pm:** Pool tomorrow?

Melissa frowns. It must be a member of the pack.

**7:46pm:** Who is this?

**7:46pm:** Lydia. Pool? It’d be just us. And Stiles, I guess.

Melissa still isn’t so sure about Lydia, but the chance to see _anyone_ from the pack is good enough for her at this point. And, though Melissa’s all but made up her mind about Stiles, she wouldn’t mind the opportunity to watch him from a distance, just to be certain.

**7:48pm:** Sure. Meet you there at 10?

**7:48pm:** Sounds great! XO

Melissa realizes ten minutes later that she’s already worn her bikini, and her only other swimsuit is the one-piece. She could wear the bikini again, she supposes, but she’s sure Lydia will be wearing something different, and Melissa has a (frankly, slightly unsettling) urge to keep Lydia impressed.

So, after work, Melissa drives to the nearest mall and splurges on a bikini with a push-up top that does wonders for her everything. Because you know what, fuck it. She deserves this.

Melissa steadfastly ignores the fact that the last time she ‘deserved’ something, she ended up drunk at a pack meeting. No need to relive that one.

She wakes up bright and early Saturday morning and goes for a run to calm her nerves. She shouldn’t be nervous to spend the day with someone her son’s age, she knows, but Lydia is a demanding personality at best, and that would be scary for anyone.

The new bikini looks even better in the light of the day, Melissa discovers after showering. She pulls on a sundress over it and heads to the pool.

Lydia is already there, looking breathtaking in mauve and massive, fashionable sunglasses. The lounge chair next to hers is piled high with bags and books.

“I was saving it for you,” she greets, clearing the chair. “Good morning!”

“Good morning,” Melissa says, surprised Lydia made the effort to accommodate her. She did well with it, too, because the pool is already filling up. “How long have you been here?”

“Oh, about an hour,” Lydia says breezily. “Woke up early and had nothing better to do. And research notes seem less dry when read by a pool. No pun intended.”

Melissa spreads her towel on the empty chair and sits on it. “Fair enough.”

She wishes she had something more interesting to say, but unless Lydia enjoys listening to stories about broken bones and nail gun accidents, she’s out of luck. “Why did you want to meet here? You don’t really peg me as a pool person.”

Lydia pulls her sunglasses down her nose and gives Melissa an unimpressed look. “We both know why I picked this place. Now come on, let’s see the new bikini.”

Melissa has no idea how Lydia knows about the new bikini, but ultimately decides that asking would take away from the mystery of it. She stands and pulls off the sundress, suddenly self-conscious about the obviousness of her selection.

“Ooh, I _love_ it,” Lydia gushes. “And so does Stiles, look.”

Melissa glances up at Stiles’ chair and just about falls over at the look on his face. He looks like he wants to _devour_ her. Melissa shivers and raises a hand in greeting. _Might as well say hi._

Stiles raises a hand bleakly.

“I seriously don’t understand why you’re not hitting that yet,” Lydia says, turning back to her notes. She flips a page and highlights something.

“Who says I’m not?”

Lydia raises an eyebrow at her. “You’re not.”

Melissa deflates and pulls oil out of her bag. “I’m working on it.”

“You are?” That draws Lydia’s full attention. “Since when?”

Melissa winces. “Monday? But I really haven’t seen him since then, so….”

Lydia smiles slowly, looking impressed. “Amazing. You’re surpassing my expectations again. That’s pretty hard to do, you know.”

Melissa’s starting to realize that when Lydia says these things, she means them sincerely. “Thanks.”

“Alright, so, since I’m not going to be spending the day persuading you into a relationship you’re already ready for,” Lydia says, turning back to her notes, “what are your thoughts on the aggression of the lycanthropic genetic code?”

Well, _that_ came out of left field. “What?”

“We’re not talking about Stiles,” Lydia says, looking up briefly, “which was what I planned to do with my day. We could sit in silence, you reading your book while I go over these notes, but that precludes an opportunity for any kind of bonding, which was my secondary goal. I know relatively little about you: You are Scott’s mom; you have some sort of friendship with Derek; you have _something_ with Stiles; you like science.” She ticks them off with her fingers. “We could talk about your friendship with Derek, because _no one_ really understands that one, but knowing Derek, I suspect that conversation would get too deep for a pool day. Motherhood is… a boring topic, especially since I have no means of bonding with you over it. And Stiles is settled. That leaves science. I love science. We should talk science.”

If Melissa had any doubts why Lydia was in the pack, they were nixed now. _Christ, is this girl a robot?_

“Uh, right, science.” Melissa readjusts in her chair and does her best to look thoughtful. “And the… what of of the what genetic code, now?”

“The aggression of the lycanthropic genetic code. What do you think of werewolfism?”

“Um, okay.” Melissa hasn’t thought much about genetics since college, so she does her best to supplement what she can remember with things she’s learned as a nurse. “A werewolf bite causes a permanent, fundamental change to the cells of the host organism, right? So the material injected into the host through the bite must somehow translate back into the host DNA. Sounds like a retrovirus to me.”

“Like herpes, but with fangs,” Lydia concludes, sounding satisfied. “My thoughts exactly!”

Well, Melissa wasn’t going to say it, but… “Yeah, honestly. Exactly like herpes.”

“Whoa, Jesus, what’s like herpes?” Stiles, who is apparently on break, stares down at them with wide eyes. “I just came over to say hello, but… now you’ve piqued my curiosity.”

“Your face,” Lydia replies sweetly. “ _Just_ like herpes. It’s uncanny.”

Melissa rolls her eyes. “Lycanthropy.”

“Oh, right!” Stiles eyes brighten and he sits at the end of Melissa’s chair, ignoring Lydia’s joke. “Because it’s like a retrovirus, right? I spent a Monster-fueled bender researching retroviruses, once Scott was turned. God, I forgot all about that! Totally helped me on a biology test or two, though.”

“Were you able to figure out what causes the morphological changes?” Melissa asks, leaning forward. She’s developed a long list of questions about werewolfism over the years; she feels stupid for having never considered asking the resident smarty-pantses in the pack about them. “And it’s actually genetic too, right? Is it dominant? Recessive? Can werewolf parents yield human offspring? If so, are they immune to the bite in the future, or was it just luck of the draw?”

Stiles’ face lights up even more. He scoots closer, poised to answer.

“Bathroom break!” Lydia chirps. She bounces to her feet and waggles her fingers at them. “Be right back.”

Stiles clicks his mouth shut and watches her leave. Melissa can feel the change in the atmosphere as he realizes that Lydia’s left them alone, probably on purpose.

She snorts. “Well, good to know she’s bad at something.”

“If you think her subtlety is bad, you should see her try sports,” Stiles says absently before Melissa’s words stick. He swings his head to look at her. “Wait, so she—so you—you know?”

Oh, shit, she’s just confessed that she knows Lydia left for a reason. Which means she’s verbally acknowledging that there’s a reason _for_ Lydia to leave.

Oops.

“She’s talking to you about me, isn’t she?” Stiles asks, looking embarrassed. “Makes sense, I suppose. She’s been talking to me, too.”

And just like that, all the confidence leaves Melissa’s system in one fell swoop. Has Lydia been playing both sides of the board, here? Talking to one person about the other in a sick experiment of wills? Stiles obviously has some basic attraction to Melissa, but he might have been able to hide it, were Lydia not egging him on. Maybe he just feels obligated to react to Melissa. God, that’s a horrible thought, especially because Melissa has finally gotten to start feeling comfortable around the pack. What if this is just a game?

Is any of this even real?

Melissa decides to play dumb on the off-chance she can save face. “Lydia’s been talking to you about _me_?”

The red in Stiles’ ears spreads down to his cheeks. “This is… not the way I wanted this to go.”

Melissa stays silent, waiting to hear proof from Stiles before she decides if she needs to have a talk with Lydia’s mother. Shame bubbles hot and heavy down her body, and she feels like a damned fool for getting caught up in some ploy by a bored college student.

“It’s nothing bad, I promise,” Stiles reassures her stiltedly. “Lydia’s been… talking me down. About you.”

Oh.

_Oh_.

Suddenly, Melissa feels a heat that has _nothing_ to do with shame. If Lydia is talking Stiles down, that means… this is Stiles reigned in. All the looks, all the flirty comments—Melissa thought he was just being awkward, but no—he’s _restraining_ himself. That’s possibly one of the sexiest things Melissa has ever heard.

She really wants to know what an uninhibited Stiles looks like.

She clears her throat. “Ah.”

“Yeah.”

Melissa bites her lip, not entirely sure she wants to ask her next question. It comes out anyway. “You mind explaining that to me? Because, I mean, all due respect, but you don’t seem very, uh, ‘talked down.’”

Stiles’ posture shifts, and suddenly he looks _hungry_. If he were a werewolf, Melissa suspects his eyes would be shifted. “Oh, believe me,” he says softly, voice deep and promising, “I’m holding back a _lot_.”

Melissa involuntarily takes a shuddering breath. It’s even better than she’d imagined. “I see.”

Stiles grins his sharp grin and gives her a slow once-over. “No, Melissa.” Her name sounds like sin on his lips. “You really _don’t_ see.”

Should she tempt fate? Melissa swallows and decides that yes, yes she should. She tilts her chin up defiantly. “Then show me.”

Stiles licks his lips, eyes alight at the challenge, and leans forward. “Ever since summer started, I haven’t been able to get you out of my head. The moment I saw you at that first meeting, I knew I wanted you. But then you showed up at my work dressed in—” he hisses in through his teeth. “God, I just want to _taste_ you.” His eyes dart down her torso to her bikini bottoms. “ _All_ of you. For hours. I want to _drench_ myself with you.”

Melissa swallows and tries to remember what normal breathing feels like. Or, for that matter, what normal _anything_ feels like. Every last synapse is devoted to keeping herself from spreading her legs open in the middle of the community pool. It’s a Herculean task at the moment.

She owes Suzie one hell of a gift basket for talking her into this. Holy _hell_.

“I’m back!” Lydia returns to her seat, and Stiles straightens, shifting easily back into his normal posture. “Did I miss anything?”

“Nope!” It comes out high-pitched, and Melissa clears her throat and tries again. “Nope, nothing to miss here.”

Stiles gives her a small smile, just sharp around the corners, and Melissa’s belly swoops. “I should really get back to work,” he says, standing. He stretches, knowing that Melissa will look at the way the muscles in his chest and abdomen shift. And, knowing it’s intentional, Melissa eyes him up anyway.

You don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, even when it’s purposefully trying to trip you up.

But you do look at its abs.

Stiles walks away, and Melissa looks at his ass, too. Because why the hell not.

Lydia lets Melissa track Stiles until he disappears into the pool worker’s building before teasing her. “So—you and Stiles have a fun chat while I was in the bathroom?”

“That kid is going to be the death of me,” Melissa says after a moment. “But God, what a death it will be.”

“That good?”

“We should really get in the pool,” Melissa suggests in lieu of a response. She needs to cool off, and the sooner, the better.

Lydia’s eyes widen. “ _That_ good?”

Melissa stands and adjusts her bikini top. Even though it’s a long shot, she hopes Stiles is watching. “Pretty damn good.”

The water feels refreshing on her skin. She was toasty even before her talk with Stiles, so she really did need to cool down. Having Stiles gaze at her from a distance, or even rest his leg on hers at that last pack meeting, was one thing. Having Stiles do _whatever the fuck he just did_ is another issue entirely.

But whatever lingering reservations Melissa had about going full steam ahead are now gone. She is hopping on that caboose, conducting that engine, and whatever other train metaphors she can use that essentially say _oh dear sweet hell, I need’a get me one of those_.

“Melissa?”

Oh, shit, right, she’s with Lydia. She can’t fantasize in public. Even though really, all she wants to do is follow Stiles into that locker room, get down on her knees, and—nope. Focusing.

Melissa dunks her body beneath the water briefly and lets the chill clear her head.

“He told me you made him calm himself down regarding, uh, this.” She pushes her hands through the water and watches the waves they create, curious to see how Lydia might react.

“He told you?” Lydia sounds surprised. “Unexpected. Well, yes, if you must know, I saw the moves he was making during that first pack meeting, so I pulled him aside and said that the entire pack would figure him out inside a week if he kept it up. And that he might scare you off, to be honest.”

“Okay, hold on a second,” Melissa says, putting that last comment on the backburner for the moment. “When you saw him talk to me at the pool, you acted surprised. If you knew he was interested… what was that?”

Lydia appears nonplussed. “That was the moment I realized the attraction was mutual.”

“What?” Melissa splutters. “No it wasn’t. I didn’t know _how_ I felt about Stiles for most of that day.”

Lydia grins. “Consciously, maybe. But your body language was… pretty telling. You’re lucky the betas were so distracted.”

Melissa sinks down until her shoulders are just beneath the water. Has she really been so obvious? _And_ so oblivious?

Maybe Scott doesn’t get it all from his father, after all.

Melissa decides to accept that she maybe has acted in unintentionally encouraging ways and moves on. “Okay, and what about this whole ‘scared off’ thing? I appreciate that you think me so naïve—really, I do—but I’ve handled my fair share of insistent wooers. I know how to handle myself.”

“None of those wooers were your son’s best friend,” Lydia says simply. “I don’t know exactly what charm Stiles has tucked away, but if he’s had half the sex life I’ve heard about, he’s got some pretty slick moves locked in that skinny body of his. I made a calculated guess that if he pushed you too far, you’d feel that he was being insistent and reject him outright. You needed time to process your own feelings and how you thought an encounter with Stiles might affect your friendship with the rest of the pack. Correct?”

Seriously, the girl’s a robot. Melissa sighs, because yeah, Lydia got it completely right. “When Derek originally pointed things out to me, my first reaction was to push Stiles away,” she confesses. Then she pulls a face. “God, what happened to the science talk? The science talk was nice and safe.”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” Lydia says, rolling her eyes. “You’re constantly looking for safety. The science talk, the one-piece, the bottle of liquid courage you drank last week. That’s why Stiles needed to slow his roll and be patient with you.”

Melissa wants to take offense at that—she’s played it risky a _lot_ , thank you. She married Rafe!—but somewhere in her chest, she knows it’s true. Ever since she found out her son was a werewolf—that werewolves existed and there was some cosmic fight between supernatural powers that she couldn’t possibly fathom—she’s been more cautious. Every awkward date could be a creature out to gain intel about the pack. Every death she hears about on the news could be a coverup for something far more sinister. It’s exhausting, but Melissa can’t leave the house unless she feels like she’s watching out for herself and her son’s friends.

It sounds debilitating when she thinks about it like that. Has she restricted her life that much? She doesn’t feel like she’s lost that much of her freedom, but now that she really considers it, she doesn’t like being out at night unless she’s with another member of the pack. She clings to Derek not only because they’re both suffering from empty nest syndrome, but also because she trusts him to hear the things that go bump in the night. She’s completely changed her life to avoid potential threats.

“It’s okay.” Lydia has moved closer, and her voice is softer. “It’s okay to be scared. I am, too. I keep a specially-made mace canister of wolfsbane in my purse, just in case a competing pack tries to take me as collateral, and I’ve memorized incantations to momentarily stun witches. The more Stiles and I learn from new bestiaries, the more I do to protect myself. I get it.”

It’s dissonant to feel this scared and alone in the middle of a swimming pool during the dead heat of summer. “And this fear… is connected to Stiles?”

“Not directly,” Lydia allows with a small smile. “I’m not a psychologist, though I have most of the DSM-V memorized, but… I think you’ve grown used to a very specific lifestyle since we’ve all gone off to college, and Stiles threatens to disrupt all of that. You had to come to terms with the ripples before you’d let him make the wave.”

Melissa rolls her eyes. “A water pun? Really?”

Lydia gives her a shit-eating grin. “When in Rome….”

Melissa isn’t convinced, but she lets it slide. She sees movement out of the corner of her eye; Stiles is retaking his chair. His skin has tanned nicely by this point, so his muscles look well-defined and smooth. As soon as he sits, his eyes find hers. Melissa swallows at how much heat is in the look, and how her body simmers in response. She should really get into the pool and cool down.

Oh wait. She’s already in the pool.

“God, you two are ridiculous,” Lydia sighs. Melissa tears her eyes away from Stiles and turns to find Lydia leaning against the side of the pool. “You’d better learn to be more discreet soon, or Scott _will_ find out.”

And there it is, the perfect bucket of ice water to drown out whatever steamy thing was building up inside Melissa. “I still have no idea what I’d tell Scott.”

Lydia rolls her eyes. “Get past the goo-goo eyes phase, and then we can worry about Scott, okay? He’s got his everything shoved so deep into Allison’s business right now, he’s barely even completing his patrols. And with those shapeshifters on our radar, he really needs to pick up the pace. He doesn’t have time to worry about you. Just… keep whatever you do at your place. He’ll expect Stiles scent everywhere in your home, but not so much your scent at Stiles’.”

Melissa nods. That makes sense. She hates to say it, but it’s nice to have someone figuring things out for her for once, instead of scrambling to make ends meet all by herself. She’s been on her own so long, she forgot what it felt like for someone to have her back. “So… what _do_ I do now?”

Lydia’s bored expression slides into a devilish grin. “If you’re up for it? Play ball. You’ve got a ridiculously hot guy panting after you—which, by the way, kudos for that—and he’s stuck in a chair, facing you while you’re in little more than underwear. I’m sure you can come up with a couple ideas.”

Melissa mirrors her grin. “Oh, maybe one or two. Come on.”

She swims to a ladder and climbs out of the pool. Lydia follows a moment later. “What’s the plan?”

“My back could use some sun,” Melissa says innocently. She pulls out her bottle of oil. “And I’m really not one for tan lines.”

Lydia’s eyes dance with mirth. “Well played.”

Melissa opens the bottle and Lydia stops her. “Oh, wait. You wanna really drive him wild?”

_This is insane_ , Melissa thinks. “What were you thinking?”

Lydia holds out her hand for the bottle. “Childhood crush rubbing oil onto current lust interest. If he doesn’t cream his pants, I’ll eat my notes.”

Melissa wants to cackle, but instead, she hands the bottle to Lydia. “You’re a bit of an evil genius. I’m glad you’re on my side.”

She turns around and pulls her hair into a quick ponytail to free up the skin on her back. Lydia’s hands are smooth and sure against her skin, and she takes a moment to recognize that Lydia Martin, queen of Beacon Hills High all through Scott’s time there, is rubbing oil on her back. Melissa’s life has gotten so strange.

“Ha!” Lydia says triumphantly. “Knew it.”

Melissa darts a quick look up at Stiles, who is holding a rescue tube over his lap and looks fixated on where Lydia is touching Melissa. She gives an aborted laugh, sure that anything more would give the game away. “Want me to do your back, next?”

“My skin is very delicate,” Lydia agrees. “And I’ve been in the water.”

Once Lydia’s finished (and damn, even with the knowledge that this is a show, feeling Lydia’s hands right above her ass has Melissa all kinds of flustered), they switch positions and Melissa takes the offered bottle of designer sunscreen. She works a thick layer of the creamy lotion onto Lydia’s shoulders, making sure to be thorough around the creases of the armpits and under the line of fabric around Lydia’s ribs. She only chances a look after she’s gotten most of Lydia’s back done: Stiles looks nearly apoplectic. His hands have gone tight on his flotation device, and he’s pointedly staring at the kiddie pool, far away from where they’re seated.

Melissa finishes up and lowers the back of her chair until it’s horizontal. “Warning,” she says, “I may fall asleep. I tend to do that when I’m face down in the sun.”

“Duly noted.” Lydia lowers the back of her own chair and pulls her bag toward her. “I’ll try to give you some warning if I see him headed our way.”

Melissa lies down, head turned to the side, and reaches back to unclasp her top. “Sounds good.”

Sure enough, the sun is far too pleasant, and Melissa feels herself drifting off after a few minutes. The next thing she knows, hands are applying more lotion to her back. She must have knocked out for a couple hours. “Thanks, Lyd,” she says sleepily. “Pro’lly needed more, huh?”

“Oh, I’d say you need a _lot_ more,” Stiles says from above her. “Just not of sunscreen.”

Melissa freezes. Those don’t feel like Lydia’s hands, now that she thinks about it. “Stiles?”

“You,” Stiles says, gliding fingers down her arms, “are deeply cruel, you know that? Torturing me at _work_.”

Melissa smirks to herself. Good to know her plan worked; at least she hasn’t _completely_ lost her touch. “Me? Never.”

Stiles’ hands glide back up her arms, and then down the sides of her back. They linger over the plump swell of her breasts, testing the give of her skin. “Jesus.”

Melissa takes in an unsteady breath. She wants his hands all over her, but at the same time, she’d really prefer to be face-to-face with him right now. This position is decidedly vulnerable, and while Melissa would typically relish the idea of a man’s hands on her back, right now she’d rather not give him the upper hand. “Let me up?”

Stiles’ breath catches above her. She could sit up on her own, they both know; she’s asking him to fasten her top. After a moment, he snags the loose ends of the strap and pulls them together. “Making me _dress you_ ,” he whispers, half to himself. “Oh, you’re just _asking_ for it, now.”

Melissa sits up one he’s done and adjusts herself in her top. Stiles swallows compulsively while she does it, eyes tracking the shifting movement of her breasts.

“Where’s Lydia?” she asks, trying not to sound too amused.

Stiles meets her eyes. He’s been biting his lips, she realizes. They’re red and swollen. Melissa wants to suck on them and see how long it takes for them to purple.

“Uh, bathroom,” he says. “Or snack hut? I’m honestly not sure. I was distracted.”

“Couldn’t take your eyes off me, huh?” Melissa smirks. “You’ve got it bad, kid.”

He flushes, and Melissa is grateful that he still can feel some measure of embarrassment. As hot as he was earlier, with the suave, sexy attitude, Melissa likes Stiles the way she knows him best: Excited, youthful, and slightly overeager. If Stiles puts on an act with her, there’s really no point to their relationship. After all, she could find a cocky, decently attractive partner to take home if she really wanted to. She has no interest in that kind of relationship.

She wants Stiles.

“To be fair,” he says, “you’re the one teasing me with the view.”

Melissa thinks he means the undone strap, but then he slides a hand along the inside of her thigh. Oh. She hadn’t even thought of that view. Maybe she _is_ losing her touch.

But it’s true, she supposes. Laying on her front, feet spread comfortably, she had been giving him an eye right up main street. “You’re the one with all the muscles, up on a fucking pedestal,” she says, somewhat grumpily. She used to be better at this, dammit.

Stiles grins broadly. “Oh, I’m _sorry_ ,” he says facetiously. “Am I _distracting_ you by doing my _job_?”

“Yes,” Melissa says, mock-affronted. “You are. Please stop.”

Stiles’ eyes sparkle. “Damn, I want to bite you right now.”

And now Melissa is the hungry one, imagining Stiles leaving a series of bite marks down her throat, across her breasts, to her hip…. “I wouldn’t complain.”

Stiles shakes his head slowly, smiling as if he can’t quite believe his eyes. “You really are interested. Wonders never cease. Does this mean I can stop holding back now? Officially?”

“Stiles?”

Lydia has returned, carrying two drinks. She looks exasperated. “Seriously? I was gone for _two minutes_.”

“A very _long_ two minutes,” Melissa gripes without heat. Honestly, she wishes Lydia could have taken a little longer, to avoid this awkward interruption. “Is that drink for me?”

Lydia extends one of the cups. “I got us water to rehydrate.”

“Okay,” Melissa says, accepting the water, “you’re forgiven.” She’s parched after hours in the sun.

“So, have you two solved the mysteries of lycanthropy yet?” Stiles asks, giving Melissa one last heated look as Lydia takes her seat. It takes Melissa a moment to remember their conversation from earlier. Which also reminds her, she really should sit down with these two and get some answers, someday. Preferably after she dispels the tension constantly building between her and Stiles. Repeatedly.

“Alas, no,” Lydia sighs, sounding genuinely wistful. Melissa wonders how much it bothers Lydia to have a concept she can’t fully understand. Is it compelling or infuriating for her? “Another day, perhaps. But I did manage to figure out more of the quantum tunneling problem that Professor Fitz has been working on, so still a productive afternoon.”

Stiles teases her for being a nerd while Melissa checks her phone. It’s later than she expected. She should get home soon; she finally has Scott for the evening, and she wants to make the most of it.

When Stiles stands to get back to his shift a few minutes later, Melissa stands as well and explains that she should get going soon. Lydia seems disappointed, but quickly cheers when Melissa invites her over for dinner sometime later in the week.

Despite her initial wariness of Lydia, Melissa can’t help but admire her fiery attitude and dedication to learning. She can see how Stiles fell for her, and why Lydia continually turned him down. Melissa can’t imagine the man that will win Lydia’s heart, but he’s going to have to be something of a god to keep pace with her.

When Lydia turns and searches for her coverup, Stiles shifts closer to Melissa. “You never answered my question.”

She grins at him. “Hit me with your best shot, hot stuff. Just don’t let it impact Scott.”

Stiles nods. “Done.”

On her way home, Melissa receives a text message.

**5:03pm:** If I dive inside you, will you be my lifeguard?

_Oh dear God,_ she thinks, _what have I done?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Broooooo they GETTIN' STEAMY.
> 
> A warning: My life is a LITTLE hectic right now (lol "little" meaning law school is hellish and I love it but also HELP), so updates MIGHT get a little less frequent while I slowly fester in a pit of my own ineptitude. (Also, FUCK Antonin Scalia and his contributions to jurisprudence. I know no one cares, but I'm not allowed to say that shit in school AND DAMMIT SOMEONE SHOULD KNOW. Look him up, if you want. I'll rant about him all day long.) Please be patient while I endure daily existential crises, and I'll do my best to... not have existential crises.
> 
> K COOL BYE


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